



















































THE 


YOUNG PRIM A DONNA: 


A ROMANCE OF THE, OPERA. 




BY MRS. a GREY. 

• A —■ . . 


AUTHOR OF “ THE DUKE.” 

“ Early bright, transient, chaste, as morning dew, 
She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to Heaven. 


IN TWO VOLUMES. 

VOL. I. 

I 


PHILADELPHIA: 

LEA & BLANCHARD. 

•••••••• A 


1840. 


92.3 
,Qn 86 > 2 ) 

a 


Exchanges 

I Hfrrary of Supreme Council JUMMk 
ACS 10, *5*0 


GRIGGS (5f CO., PRINTERS. 


s. ', H.' 



THE 


YOUNG PRIM A DONNA. 


CHAPTER I. 

I am an old man, and old more from infirmities than 
years. Sickness and time, however, though they have 
robbed me of many blessings have left my memory 
fresh and green, as in the days of my childhood. To 
this I am indebted for almost the only amusement 
that remains to me. I sit and ruminate upon the days 
that are gone, and although these recollections are 
often fraught with agonizing sorrow I dwell upon them 
with a degree of tenacity, which shows how indelibly 
their memory is engraven on my heart. 

To forget or to remember, at pleasure, is equally 
beyond the power of man. Sometimes I wish I could 
forget; — perhaps it is better as it is. 

“ Let fate do her worst, there are moments of joy, 

Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy, 

Which come in the night time of sorrow and care, 

And bring back the features that joy used to wear. 

Long, long be my heart with such memories filled, 

Like a vase in which roses have once been distilled, 

You may break — you may ruin the vase if you will, 

But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.” 


4 


THE YOUNG FRIMA DONNA. 


It is one of the melancholy pleasures of declining 
life, to recollect every circumstance concerning de- 
parted friends, whose beloved forms we can no longer 
see. In these serious moments of reflection, how re- 
lieving is the thought — what cordial balm to the heart, 
to know that the separation is only temporary — not 
eternal — that' there is a time to come of reunion with 
those, with whom our happiest days on earth were 
spent. When the short dream of life is over — when 
the dismal phantoms shall vanish at the brightness of 
the everlasting day. 


“ Then shall no fate again divide the souls, 
Which nature thou didst for each other form.” 


My solitary hours have lately been enlivened by the 
occasional society of a kind friend who passes every 
unemployed evening with me. To him, with all the 
garrulity of old age, I have unburdened my mind, by 
relating many a story of by-gone days; and so inte- 
rested has he been, in the narration of some of them, 
that he has persuaded me to allow him to transcribe 
my words. Thence is the origin of the present tale, 
which, from his importunity, 1 have been tempted to 
bring from the depths of an old man’s memory. 

I am by profession a clergyman; but a morbid feel- 
ing of the necessity of locomotion, prevented my ever 
becoming a steady performer of my clerical duties. 
I wandered far and near, and France, and the other 
European countries, I was for ever visiting. 

However, it did happen that, for a few brief years, 
I was stationary perhaps I might have conti- 
nued so for the rest of my life, but circumstances 
proved adverse to this event. I had accepted a curacy 
in a peaceful happy spot, and soon became so fond of 
it, and of the inhabitants of the locale, that I could 
have ended my days amongst them; but my rector 
dying — after some of the happiest years I ever spent 
— I was obliged to give up the curacy and again re- 
sumed my life of pilgrimage. 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


5 


It was during the period to which I have just alluded, 
that I became acquainted with the loved being who is 
to be the heroine of my tale. 

My parsonage was situated almost within the walls 
of the park, belonging to the Marquis of Belmont. It 
was a sweet picturesque little spot, possessing all the 
advantages which stately woods, and magnificent 
scenery afford. 

My memory dwells for ever on that beauteous home; 
which, for a brief space, I could call my own. My ' 
garden in all the luxuriance of summer charms! — Me- 
thinks I can even smell the perfume of my favourite 
flowers, when in the early morning I sallied forth to 
greet my treasures. Oh ! memory — memory ! how it 
lingers over every cherished spot and nook of this, to 
me, almost a paradise! During the course of my 
wandering life, these were my only days of tranquil 
happiness : — they were as fleeting, as they were sweet. 

The Marquis and his children were excellent peo- 
ple, and the young and rising family were ever to 
me objects of interest and admiration. The Village 
of Fairbourne was a pattern of neatness and comfort. 
The inhabitants, for the most part, an industrious and 
artless race, and most solicitous did I feel, both for 
their spiritual and temporal" welfare. 

There was one little white cottage, standing rather 
apart from the rest of the houses, and surrounded by 
a small garden, which had been for some time unoc- 
cupied. One morning, however, on my walking 
through the village, I perceived an unusual degree of 
bustle, within its^ hitherto untenanted walls. The 
windows were all open, and the noise of scrubbing 
brushes was heard in every direction. I w f as still 
standing with a degree of inquisitive speculation, in- 
tending to make some inquiries upon the subject, when 
a cart drove up, laden with furniture belonging to the- 
new tenant. 

I had been away for a fortnight, therefore had 
heard none of the village gossip; so I stepped into the 
shop, par excellence , in order to gain every informal 


6 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


tion concerning my new parishioner. I was told that 
the expected inhabitant of the white cottage was the 
widow of an officer, left with one little girl, and that 
her name was Elton. 

“ She seems but poor in plight, Sir,” said the gro- 
cer, “ for I hear that her husband was killed in battle, 
and has left her with no other provision but her pen- 
sion ; however, she has the cottage for next to nothing, 
and as this is a cheap place for living, perhaps she 
may be able to get on. The cottage is certainly a poor 
abode, if she has seen better days.” 

I returned home this day full of the white cottage 
and the widow lady, conjuring up ail sorts of romantic 
visions with regard to her, and her situation. She ar- 
rived in the course of the week, and I, in due time, 
paid her my pastoral visit, but as usual was disap- 
pointed. 

Mrs. Elton was a common place sort of woman, 
about thirty-five years old, full of cares and perplexi- 
ties, which rendered her cross and fidgelty, and evi- 
dently possessing very little self-possession, or arrange- 
ment. Her cottage, however, was already put into 
decent order. 

On my complimenting her upon the activity she dis- 
played, in so soon giving a home appearance to her 
new abode, she replied : — “ Oh, Sir ! I have had no- 
thing to do with it. I have neither the spirits nor the 
strength to exert myself I can do little else than sit 
and cry over my misfortunes; it has all been done by 
Rosalie and her nurse.” 

Then it was Rosalie that I was anxious to see ; but 
on my requesting to be introduced to the young lady, 
her mother told me that most probably she was not 
fit to be seen, and that I must excuse her appearing 
that day, for though she was a good girl, she was sel- 
dom a very tidy one, and now that she had so much 
to do, she was not presentable. 

“In her poor father’s life-time,” Mrs. Elton ronti- 
nued, “some pains were taken with her education ; 
and. when we were abroad, she had the benefit of 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


7 


masters ; but now I suppose she must give up every 
thing, and just turn into a mere household drudge. I 
am sure,” she added, wimpering, “ I can do nothing 
for her.” 

The young lady’s scruples were not as great as 
those of her mamma, for scarcely had she thus 
spoken, when the door opened, and in she walked. 

I must allow that she was not strictly neat in her 
appearance: her clothes were soiled, and she was 
evidently heated by household ^exertions — but there 
was something in the countenance of the little girl, as 
she stopped short, confused and blushing, at the door 
— confounded by the unexpected sight of a stranger, 
and by her mother’s reprehensive looks, which went 
directly to my heart. Not that beauty was her re- 
commendation, for at this time, Rosalie had very 
little. 

She was a short girl of ten years old, with a re- 
markably sallow complexion; however, the vivid 
blush wi h which she greeted me, brightened her skin, 
and showed to the greatest advantage, a pair of— 
certainly — the most magnificent eyes I had ever be- 
held. In a moment afterwards, the blush had faded, 
and the complexion resumed its swarthiness ; — with- 
out its assistance, the eyes lost all their splendour. 

Mrs. Elton rebuked the little girl for her abrupt en- 
trance, and ordered her to leave the room. She 
would have obeyed immediately had not I taken hold 
of one of her — I must allow — dirty small hands, and 
drawn her towards me. This simple action was the 
foundation of our farther friendship. Rosalie seemed 
gratified, for she turned her large eyes upon me with 
a look of affection, which I remember at this mo- 
ment, and leant caressingly against me whilst I spoke 
to her. 

We very soon became acquainted, and I went home, 
filled with a degree of interest for my newly acquired 
young friend, which I felt would be both strong and 
lasting. 

The next morning, as I was walking through the vil- 


8 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


lage, my thoughts reverted to my little acquaintance, 
and I sallied towards the garden-gate, merely to look 
over it, in the hope of gaining a sight of her black 
eyes. 

" I saw her at a short distance, up to her ears in soil 
and dirt, busily digging a flower bed; but my steps 
were riveted to the spot on which I stood, and my 
surprised senses listened to a strain of melody — as 
unexpected as it was beautiful. 

Notwithstanding her laborious occupation, Rosalie 
was singing an Italian air from one of Rossini’s ope- 
ras, and so splendid was the voice, and so extraordi- 
nary ’the execution, that I, who from my long resi- 
dence in Italy — the land of song — am a passionate 
lover of music, was enchanted beyond the power of 
description. 

I listened until she suddenly broke off the strain in 
the midst of a beautiful cadence; her attention was 
attracted by the sight of a large worm which she had 
disturbed during her labours, and whose progress she 
was now watching with infantile delight. What a 
contrast between her child-like actions, and the extra- 
ordinary science her voice exhibited! I opened the 
gate, and walked towards her. She was delighted to 
see me, and unrestrained bv the presence of her mo- 
ther, chattered on with childish freedom. 

I soon discovered all her wants and wishes. She 
was very fond of flowers, but her present garden was 
quite uncultivated. I found that two or three days’ 
labour would set it all to rights, and promised to send 
a man to perform the task — and plants and seeds. 

Rosalie’s face beamed with delight at the anticipa- 
tion of her expected treasures. 

“Thank you — thank you a thousand times, dear 
good Sir,” she exclaimed, in an ecstacy of joy and 
gratitude. 

" But I expect to be repaid, Rosalie,” I said. Her 
countenance fell. 

“What have I to give? Not one flower — nothing 
in the world.” 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


9 


“Yes, you have; you must sing to me just such 
another song, as I heard you so sweetly warbling 
whilst I stood at the gate.” 

“ Oh! if that is all,” she exclaimed, joyfully, “ I will 
repay you to the very extent of your wishes. What 
shall it be?” 

She then seated herself upon a broken bench. “ Sit 
down by me,” she said, “ and I will sing to you as 
long as you please.” 

And she did sing; and so beautifully, that my curi- 
osity, as well as my admiration, was excited. 

“ And where did you learn this?” I asked, after 
she had finished. 

“ Oh !” she replied, “ I have sung ever since I was 
born.” She added, with a deep sigh, “ my poor fa- 
ther doated upon music — he was an excellent per- 
former, and took great pains with me. Then, abroad, 
I went very often to the opera, and we saw a good 
deal of professional people, who liked to hear me sing, 
and taught me the fine songs I have just been singing. 
But I know some English airs if you like them bet- 
ter ” — and then she commenced that beautiful dittv, 
“ Auld Robin Gray.” 

Can I ever forget that clear young voice — those 
tones of native melody? 

No ! — at this moment, though years have passed by, 
their sounds still ring in my ears. I feel, indeed, that 
they were angelic strains, and I indulge in the hope 
that I shall hear them again. The lips from which 
they proceeded are cold in death. Although that 
voice of melody is now mute — in heaven, it is my 
cherished idea — my dearest hope, that my sweet 
young friend may be one of the choir of angels who 
sing eternal praises at the throne of God! May I, 
through the merits of His Son, meet her hereafter in 
those realms of peace ! 


10 


THE YOUNG PRlMA PONNA# 


CHAPTER II. 

It was the month of May ; the Marquis’s family 
were in London, and not expected to return to the 
country until August. Before this period my ac- 
quaintance with Rosalie had deepened into extreme 
intimacy. I soon discovered her family history. 
Her mother — a great beauty, though penniless — had 
married Mr. Elton, then a lieutenant in a marching 
regiment, with no other income but his pay. She 
had been abroad with her husband, who, having 
there attained the rank of captain, fell in an engage- 
ment, leaving his widow and child almost destitute. 
By the assistance of some friends, she was enabled to 
return to England, and to furnish the cottage in 
which she was now residing, where, upon a scanty 
pittance, she believed she was doomed to pass the 
rest of her life. She was accompanied by one female 
servant, a soldier’s wive, whose husband had perished 
on the field of glory. She had nursed the little Ro- 
salie from her birth ; and from the firm mind of this 
good woman, the child had gained all the excellence 
which she afterwards displayed. I found the little 
girl almost totally uneducated, but anxious, beyond 
all measure, to learn. My plan was soon arranged ; 
she was to come to me every morning, and I was to 
be her instructor. These were pleasant hours to me; 
her quickness was incredible, and my zeal in teaching 
equally great. 

Education, when it works upon a superior mind, 
draws out to view every talent and perfection ; — per- 
sonal virtue displays its greatness — the sentiments be- 
come generous — the manners endearing — it gives a 
polish to every action. Rosalie improved every day; 
her manners softened; even her countenance increased 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


11 


in expression, for, before we met, the poor child had 
many disadvantages against which to struggle. Her 
mother’s temper was capricious and unamiable, and I 
soon discovered that she was both ignorant and silly. 
Rosalie had never been properly managed, so no 
wonder that the seeds of evil, as well as of good had 
been implanted in her nature ; — those of evil were but 
of fragile growth — the soil from which they sprung 
was too rich and good to nurture them, and every day 
I witnessed new perfections in my little pupil. 

The autumn came, and with the season the family 
of the Park arrived to gladden every heart. The party 
consisted of a great many children, of all ages, from 
babies, to youths of fifteen and sixteen. They were a 
charming group ! 

The Marchioness was an excellent, kind-hearted 
woman ; unspoilt by prosperity and the world — her 
tastes were simple. She, as well as her noble hus- 
band, loved the country and unostentatious pursuits, 
and were both desirous that their children should do 
the same. Their return to Belmont Abbey was hailed 
with joy by every class. 

The countenances of the young people were open 
and beautiful, with an expression of high-breeding, at 
the same time full of affability and cheerfulness. The 
youths of the family were tall and gracefully made, 
and their whole appearance natural and easy. 

As an admired author expresses himself, “ There is 
a healthful hardiness about real dignity, that never 
dreads .contact and communion with others, however 
humble; — it is only spurious pride that is morbid and 
sensitive.” The young ladies delighted to stop and 
talk to the poor people of the village — to notice the 
children, and hear the story of the humble cottagers. 
I loved them all, and their return was, ever to me, a 
gala day. 

I now hoped that I had prepared for them a plea- 
sant surprise. We had always been very proud of 
our little village choir ; it had been one of my most 
favourite hobbies, and I had been assisted, very assi- 


12 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


duously, by the young ladies and their governess — a 
German, who possessed great musical abilities. Now, 
I had indeed, gained a powerful auxiliary ! Rosalie 
practised hard to produce an effect, and was to intro- 
duce a solo for the first Sunday's anthem. Her strong 
contralto voice was beautifully adapted to church mu- 
sic. It was thus I intended to present my little pro- 
tegee to this illustrious family. 

Saturday arrived, and the whole aspect of the place 
was brightened by the presence of its noble owners. 
The next day, as usual, the whole household joyfully 
attended my little church. 

My heart beat high at the moment the music com- 
menced, when Rosalie appeared in front of the galle- 
ry, and chaunted forth, with the utmost sweetness and 
skill, that beautiful sacred song of Pergolesi’s, “ Lord! 
have mercy upon me!” She was ably accompanied 
by our organist, a young beginner of some science. 

My eyes, for a moment, fell upon the countenances 
of the occupants of the Belmont pew, and 1 saw with 
satisfaction, that admiration, surprise, and delight 
beamed from them. Certainly, nothing could well 
surpass the beauty of the voice of the little cantalrice, 
and, although far from lovely, her childish appearance 
and sweet countenance were passports which found 
their way into the hearts of all who heard her. 

From this moment Rosalie might date the happi- 
ness, which flowed with a rich current, during the 
five ensuing years of her life — days, indeed, of joy to 
her, sweet soul! although their brilliancy, perhaps, 
rendered those that followed but the more dark and 
dismal. 

In the bitterness of my feelings I sometimes blame 
myself; but still the firm reliance that God directs our 
every effort must solace me ; and the conviction that 
he often “ chasteneth whom he loveth,” is my support, 
when self-reproach wrings my heart, and I bow my 
head in humility to his dispensations. His consola- 
tions are the only true ones; and now I comfort myself 
by thinking, that all the sorrows she felt in this world, 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


13 


have been but thorns in her passage to that eternal 
state, in which, I reverentially trust, she is far happier 
than we who are still on earth. 

Rosalie became almost domesticated at the Abbey. 
The family were all enthusiasts upon the subject of 
music, and this circumstance, in the first instance, 
made them patronize the little singer. The German, 
governess, Mademoiselle Kramer, was too happy to 
assist in cultivating such splendid talent; and the Eng- 
lish instructress willingly lent her aid to perfect her in 
other branches of education. 1, also continued my 
lessons, therefore our little girl did not lack tuition ; 
and Mademoiselle Kramer and I had soon settled in 
our own minds, that Rosalie was to be brought up in 
such a manner, as would fit her for a first rate go- 
verness. 

She soon became a universal favourite throughout 
the whole house ; her sweet temper and lively disposi- 
tion, made her equally acceptable in the nursery, 
school-room, and drawing room. The little ones clung 
round her with infantine love, and the elder children 
prized her for her acquirements and excellent quali- 
ties. 

Lord and Lady Belmont felt much interest for Ro- 
salie, and considered her society an advantage to their 
daughters, as she was too happy to impart to them all 
she could, of the talent she possessed to so brilliant a 
degree. And the boys — though they sometimes laughed 
at her, and called her “ Rose, Rose ! coal black Rose,” 
and quizzed her little squat figure — still, they were not 
happy without her; and when they returned home for 
their vacations, “ Where is the yellow rose?” was the 
first question they asked, if they did not see her imme- 
diately on their arrival. 

The eldest son, Lord Fitz-Ernest, was a charming 
youth. He was ever the kind friend of our little he- 
roine ; he always called her by her own pretty name, 
and, in the mischievous pranks of his brothers, which 
were often aimed to tease and torment “ the dark lit- 
vol. i. — 2 


14 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


tie Rose,” she had invariably found a supporter in 
him. 

He was passionately fond of music, and, in her la- 
bours of practising, to givedjim pleasure was her great- 
est aim. On his return to his home, how charmed 
was she to exhibit before him all her new songs, and 
the improvement she had made in his absence! — to 
hear his praise had been her hope during all her exer- 
tions to attain perfection in the science. 

This was, indeed, a luxurious life for Rosalie, for 
many months, at least, in the year. The rest of the 
time she spent ostensibly with her mother, although, 
during the greater part of the day, she was to be seen 
at the rectory. 

Mrs. Elton was any thing but an intellectual com- 
panion fof her daughter. She had been accustomed 
to a life of gaiety and variety, and now, completely 
thrown upon her own resources, was for ever whi- 
ning and bewailing her condition. She was jealous 
of the situation her daughter held at the Abbey, for 
Lady Belmont did not extend much of her notice to 
her. She was too vulgar-minded to meet with much 
reciprocity of sentiment from the refined members of 
Belmont Abbey. 

They were, however, attentive to her wants, and 
she was liberally supplied with temporal civilities. 
The gamekeeper had orders never to forget her ; the 
Abbey garden afforded her fruit and vegetables; but 
Mrs. Elton was never satisfied. To live in a^own was 
her ambition, where she might have gossip and tea par- 
ties in abundance. Nothing kept her in our village 
but my remonstrances, and frequent endeavours to im- 
press upon her mind, the advantages which a residence 
there afforded her daughter. The time, to her, pass- 
ed slowly and heavily ; her temper became fretful, and 
her ennui almost insupportable. 


THE YOONG PRIMA DONNA. 


15 


CHAPTER III. 

We will pass over a lapse of time — several years 
— which glided by in quick and happy succession. 
Rosalie increased in wisdom, but slowly in stature. 
Perhaps it was to her diminutive figure she owed a great 
deal of the indulgence she received throughout the 
whole of the Belmont family. Although almost fifteen 
she looked a complete child. Had she attained the 
growth of others of her own age, it might have enter- 
ed the Marchioness’s head, that such a fascinating and 
accomplished girl, would be rather a dangerous com- 
panion for her sons, some of whom were nearly grown 
up. As it was, Rosalie still continued their little pet 
and plaything. 

Never did they return home without bringing with 
them some token, which showed that they remember- 
ed her, even when absent. Lord Fitz-Ernest evinced 
towards her, perhaps, the greatest share of goodwill; 
he was older than his brothers, and of a graver and 
more sensitive disposition. He could not bear to see 
his little prot£g6e for a moment mortified ; therefore, in 
all their parties of pleasure, he took care that Rosalie 
should be included. He saw that she was provided 
with a pony, which best suited her — or if a carriage 
excursion was in question, she must be squeezed in — 
even if there was no other seat than his knee. 

“ My dear Eitz-Ernest,” I once heard Lady Belmont 
say, “ I fear we are almost spoiling that child ; placing 
her in a false position, at least in one unfitting her for 
what is to be her fate hereafter, for her situation in 
society. Poor little thing ! in a very few years— for 
we forget her age — she must commence the weari- 
some m6tier of governess. All we are now doing for 
her — making her so happy, and upon such a complete 


16 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


equality with your sisters, will, I almost think, cause 
her to enter her vocation with disgust.” 

“ But she is still such a baby,” replied the young 
man ; “ it must be a very long time before her misfor- 
tunes commence.” 

“ I beg your pardon, you forget that she is nearly 
fifteen.” 

“ Fifteen,” exclaimed Fitz-Ernest laughing, “ she 
is more like a child of nine years old. I am sadly 
afraid our coal black Rose, as Henry calls her, will 
never make a dignified instilutrice. Fancy that brat 
teaching the young ideas how to shoot ! Not that she 
lacks them herself, for she’s a clever little thing.” 

And at the same moment seeing her upon the lawn, 
he rushed out of the open window, and soon was seen 
engaged in a game of romps, with her and his sisters. 

.1 must particularly mention Lady Gertrude. This 
sweet girl was about the age of Rosalie, but most un- 
like her in personal appearance. She was tall, exqui- 
sitely fair, and beautiful. Shehad everevinced thegreat- 
est affection for our heroine. All the sisters loved her, 
but none with the tenderness of the lovely Gertrude ; 
to her she looked up with a feeling approaching to 
adoration. She was Rosalie’s beau-idial of earthly per- 
fection. To see the two girls together, no one would 
have guessed that their ages were so nearly alike: 
Lady Gertrude looked the woman, Rosalie the child. 
This sweet young lady was so kind, so fond of her, so 
anxious for her improvement — for her happiness, that 
could she have had it all her own way, they would never 
have been separated. She often importuned her mo- 
ther to allow Rose to accompany them to London, but 
Lady Belmont thought it would be hard upon Mrs. El- 
ton, and would not comply with this desire. 

During the course of this summer, Belmont Abbey 
was destined to receive a visit from royalty, and we 
were to have nothing but fetes and grand doings. To 
these festive days, the youngpeople looked forward with 
great delight. Poor Rosalie ! little did she dream how 
deeply her fate was involved in the events which this 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


17 


visit produced ! — Her race of happiness was almost 
run — the whole aspect of her situation was about to 
change. 

Amongst the various amusements provided for the 
illustrious guest, some professional people were en- 
gaged to perform, during the evenings. Rosalie, whose 
voice improved every year, was also to take her part. 
Anxiously and arduously had she worked, to do ho- 
nour to the instructions she had received under the 
roof of her benefactors. Mademoiselle Kramer was 
most proud of her pupil, and longed to exhibit her al- 
most as a rival to some of the artistes. She forgot 
how richly Rosalie had been gifted by nature, and fan- 
cied she owed every thing to her skill in teaching, 
which was in truth very great. Laboriously did she 
make the little girl practice, both vocal and instrument- 
al music, before the expected arrival. Had she guess- 
ed what were to be the results of all this perfection* 
how mute would have been her voice ! — how inflexible 
her fingers 1 

Rosalie was in a state of great nervous excitement 
during this period, and I did not think that she was 
in good spirits. She appeared over-worked and wor- 
ried. She came to me as usual at the rectory, but 
our lessons did not proceed as calmly as they were 
wont to do. 

“ I wish this visit was over,” she said to me one 
morning, “ I dare not express how I dread it, for Ma- 
demoiselle Kramer would imagine that 1 meant to fail 
in my performance — and that would half kill her. 
But these Italian people 1 the very idea of them terri- 
fies me. It appears so like presumption to put myself in 
competition with them. Who will listen to my voice 
when they are present? and if you could but imagine, my 
dear Sir, how I dislike exhibiting before strangers 1 for 
my friends I could sing for ever; but, for display only, I 
dread it.” 

I tried to reassure her, but she shed tears, and was 
totally unlike her own merry self. Was it a presenti- 
ment of evil that made her thus sad? The expected. 

2 * 


18 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


moment arrived — the prince and his suite were at the 
Abbey ; all was festive gaiety. A concert was pre- 
pared for him that evening. I shall never forget my 
surprise at Rosalie’s appearance. It had been the fa- 
shion, to consider her almost ugly; I had never been 
of that opinion. Her eyes, every one allowed were 
splendid, and her countenance was sweet ; her com- 
plexion had always been the bane of her beauty, but 
when it w r as lighted up by colour, every feature ap- 
peared to soften, and many a time I looked at her, and 
inwardly predicted to myself, with a sigh of regret, 
that the time would arrive when Rosalie would be too 
beautiful for the situation she was to hold in life. 

This evening Mademoiselle Kramer, assisted by 
Lady Gertrude, had taken peculiar pains with her toi- 
lette. Her long black hair was smoothed and plaited 
in a most becoming manner, and she wore a pretty 
white dress, made by the direction of her anxious 
friend. Just as she was on the point of entering the 
drawing-room with the young ladies of the family, 
Fitz-Ernest called to her: 

“ Come into my sitting-room, Rosy,” he said ; she 
obeyed the summons with alacrity. 

“ Upon my word,” he continued, “ you look quite 
pretty;” and he turned her round and round, much to 
her amusement, although she blushed, and added to 
the prettiness which for the first time, struck his eye. 
“ See what I have got for a good girl. This is to 
bribe you to do your best and enchant every one, and 
make all the Signors and Signoras die with envy ;” and 
at the same moment he put around her neck a beauti- 
ful gold chain, from which was suspended an orna- 
ment containing Lady Gertrude’s hair. 

Tears started into the eyes of the grateful child, and 
in an instant her arms were thrown round the neck of 
the young Lord, whom she embraced with all the in- 
nocence of the merest baby. 

“ Come, come,” he said, laughing at this tender de- 
monstration of her thanks, although he returned her 
caresses with brotherly tenderness, “ we must have 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


19 


no scene, for your eyes will be red, and then what 
will become of your good looks ? You know, Rosalie, 
your eyes are your fortune.” 

Rosalie had not known this before; but she remem- 
bered his saying for the future. 

Lord Fitz-Ernest then led her into the music-room, 
and placed her by the side of his sister Gertrude. 
The varied emotions of joy and anxiety which agitated 
her bosom, had lent the brightest blood to her com- 
plexion, and when, at length, she took her place by 
the pianoforte, and accompanied by Mademoiselle 
Kramer, sang an Italian song, there was a general ex- 
clamation throughout the room of “ What a beautiful 
child !” 

The professional people were all delighted — as- 
tonished; real talent is always appreciated by those 
who themselves possess it. Her poor little head might 
have been turned by the excessive praise she received, 
but Rosalie fixed her eyes on the countenances of the 
Marchioness, Lady Gertrude, Fitz-Ernest, and then 
upon me; she saw that we were more than satisfied, 
and all the noisy flattery of the Italians fell valueless 
upon her ears. 

There was one man amongst the set, who appeared 
peculiarly surprised and charmed with the voice and 
talent of Rosalie; he was the principal performer. 
At first, he imagined that slje was one of the children 
of the house, but when he heard from Mademoiselle, 
her actual position in the family, his curiosity and ad- 
miration appeared to redouble. He listened to her 
with the utmost eagerness, and his questions with re- 
gard to her, were endless. He seemed to wish to 
know her whole history, and during his stay at Bel- 
mont made her sing to him repeatedly, trying her 
voice, in every possible manner. Mademoiselle Kra- 
mer was in perfect raptures, and readily supplied him 
with every information he required. 

There was something about this man that I never 
could endure. His countenance displayed a mixture 
of slyness and servility, although his manners were 


20 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


polished, and fascinating, like those of most fo- 
reigners. 

I was surprised one day, as I passed through the vil- 
lage, by seeing him come out of Mrs. Elton’s cottage, 
and I fancied he looked confused when he encountered 
me; but with the usual ease of those foreign puppies, 
he promptly said : “ Qu’il venait d’entrer dans cette 
jolie maisonnette pour fair e ses compliments h la mere 
de cette charmante petite, dont la belle voix Vavait tanl 
ravi, et pour la Jeliciter sur les talents surprenants 
qu’elle annoncait” 

“ Intrusive puppy !” I muttered to myself, angry 
and disgusted — I scarce knew why. 

The children of the family had always been very 
fond of theatrical amusements. To please them, their 
parents had fitted up a room as a small theatre, and 
during the long winter evenings, this was the most fa- 
vourite recreation. The exhibition had ever been re- 
stricted to their parents and intimate friends; but by 
some chance, the existence of this little theatre was 

discovered by the Duke of . One of the cha- 

racterestics of our Royal Family, is their excessive 
kindness towards young people, and their fondness for 
children. To give them pleasure as well as at the 
same time to gratify himself, His Royal Highness was 
most anxious and solicitous in his request, that he 
might witness a performance. How could a wish, 
which from such a quarter amounted to a command, 
be refused? The children were soon all in a state of 
happy excitement and preparation. Unfortunately, 
for her future prospects, our little heroine was the 
Prima Donna on every occasion, for she had an ex- 
traordinary talent for acting. The piece they select- 
ed, gave her an opportunity of introducing several of 
her most beautiful songs. 

Although Rosalie’s figure and appearance were not 
exactly suited to the characters they chose for her, 
still the advantages of dress, and the borrowed em- 
bellishments of which actors and actresses feel them- 
selves entitled to make use, improved her beauty, and 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


21 


rendered her a very pretty, though certainly a -petite 
performer. The exertions of the corps dramatique 
were crowned with the most perfect success. The 
Prince was peculiarly struck with the talent and grace 
of little Rosalie, and, indeed, the whole of the audi- 
ence were unanimous in the expressions of their de- 
light and praise; amongst them were the Italian sing- 
ers. How was it that their praises sounded so harsh- 
ly upon my ears, and that for the first time, in my 
own mind, I highly condemned an amusement, which 
before I had even applauded and encouraged? 

I was angry with myself, and felt that I had been 
guilty of impropriety, in not having, as the spiritual 
adviser of the family, checked it from the first; at 
least, I ought not to have given the sanction of my 
countenance to a pastime so calculated to engender 
feelings of yarjety<and folly. I watched, with sensa- 
tions of anger and disgust, the countenances of the 
foreigners, particularly that of Signor Gabrielli, who 
was my aversion. 

His raptures at the acting of Rosalie were unbound- 
ed; he watched her every movement, and I heard him 
whispering in Italian continual remarks to one of his 
party who stood near him. “ Che voce divina ! — 
quella ragazza sarehbe una veragioja pel nostro leatro!” 
Then he lowered his voice, and went on gesticulating 
with great vehemence and rapidity; and then his eyes 
were again fixed upon the little girl, who, excited by 
the success she had attained, was in the highest spi- 
rits — exerting herself to the very utmost to please. 

I never before felt so little inclined to encourage - 
her. I turned away from the scene, filled with feel- 
ings of dread and gloom, which I could scarcely fa- 
thom. 

“ Was this,” I thought, “ a proper education for a 
girl, W'hose prospects in life were to be so secluded — 
so quiet? Had we not taken her from her own sphere 
— dragged her, in a most unnecessary manner, before 
the public eye; would it not be a disadvantage to her, 
when appearing as she would do in a few years, in 


22 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


the grave character of a governess?” And then when 
I reflected upon some of the whispered hints of the 
Italian, I felt an inward thrill of vexation and fear. 

My sweet little innocent child! surely her silly mo- 
ther would never be induced to alter her views with 
regard to her, and allow her to fall into other hands 
than ours ! 

This idea was too disagreeable for me to cherish, 
and I endeavoured to banish it immediately ; however, 
I felt much relieved when I saw the whole train de- 

? art, for there was something about the business that 
certainly did not like. Whether I was afraid that 
the mind of my little girl would be distracted, by all 
the fulsome praise she received, or that I had an in- 
stinctive dread of the Italian coterie, I know' not, but 
I remember that I drew my breath more freely when 
I found that they were all gone, and fondly imagined 
that the evil, with which some vague misgivings made 
me believe their presence was fraught, had departed 
with them. 




CHAPTER IV. 

A few mornings after these events had taken place, 
I received two letters ; — they both contained fatal 
tidings to me. I was no longer Curate of Fairbourne. 
The rector was dead, and the living (which, strange 
to say, did not belong to the Belmont family,) was to 
devoive into the hands of a person who intended to 
reside upon it. This event had ever been like the 
sword of Damocles hanging over my head; however, 
as the late incumbent w'as not an older man than my- 
self, I had lived in the hope that I might be the first 
to depart, that I should have ended my days at that 
loved retreat, and have been buried under the peace- 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


23 


ful shade of the yew trees which grew in sober luxu- 
riance in the church-yard. 

The latter part of my wish, will, I trust, still be re- 
alized. I then felt, (and have ever continued to do 
so,) that my ashes would never rest so gently in any 
other soil ; and when I die there is a little cherished 
nook reserved for me in that beloved spot, which is 
now more than ever dear and sacred to my remem- 
brance. 

The other letter contained intelligence of the death 
of my aged mother. I was summoned to attend her 
funeral; my departure would be, therefore, much 
hastened ; but as 1 was to go, of what use would it have 
been to linger ? 

Shall I ever forget the grief of that brief period ? I 
was perfectly bewildered by my own sorrow and that 
of those around me. As for poor Rosalie, the recol- 
lection of her despair will never leave my memory ; 
it was indeed to her like losing a parent. I felt that 
she regarded me in that light, and towards her, dear 
soul, I truly felt the tenderest of parental affection. 

I endeavoured to comfort her, promised to write to 
her — to return, if possible, to Fairbourne, and procure 
some habitation in the neighbourhood; still I could not 
soothe her; she clung round me, and could only falter 
out in broken accents: 

“ I know we shall never meet again — at least, not in 
such perfect comfort as we are now enjoying. I can- 
not help feeling that this is an end of every thing like 
happiness to me; the future seems to present itself to 
my mind with a frowning aspect ; — without you, where 
shall I look for that tender support, upon which 
I have so long, so completely, relied? It is to you, 
dear, kind, friend, that I have looked up for advice — 
for instruction — ever since I have been in this happy 
village ; but, when you are gone, what will become 
of me ? I know, indeed, I feel a dire presentiment 
that all will go wrong with me — my mother will never 
remain at Fairbourne, and I shall be wretched. In- 


24 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


deed, lately she has alarmed me by hints which all 
tend to insinuate that our days here are numbered.” 

The whole of the day previous to my departure, 
Rosalie passed with me at the rectory, endeavouring 
to assist me in my preparations for my long journey; 
but, poor little girl, her eyes were too completely 
blinded by tears, and her hands shook with too much 
emotion, to allow her to be of any use. I see her now, 
in my mind’s eye, in an attitude of deep dejection, 
seated by the writing table, trying to arrange my pa- 
pers, but every now and then leaning her elbows upon 
the table and weeping bitterly. I was nearly as much 
overcome as herself, and with difficulty commanded 
my feelings sufficiently to be able to speak words of 
consolation; indeed, I was thoroughly wretched. I 
felt that I was tearing myself away from the only spot 
on earth, and the only ties, besides those of kindred, 
which I had ever truly loved. 

The evening being fine, I persuaded Rosalie to w'alk 
out with me; I thought the air would revive us both, 
and, indeed, I longed to visit, for the last time, some 
of my dearly loved haunts. 

We walked for some time in silence, for we were 
far too unhappy to converse. My steps bent involun- 
tarily towards the church-yard. 1 gazed with a part- 
ing look of affection upon the dear little edifice, where 
my best and most profitable hours had been spent. — I 
looked around; my eyes rested upon the grave stones, 
and I almost envied the peaceful ashes of many a 
well-known and respected parishioner. Whilst I was 
standing in one quiet retired nook, which was shaded 
by a magnificent yew tree, I said to my young com- 
panion, “ Here, Rosalie, I hope to be buried; I have 
signified my wishes in my will.” 

She answered, “ What happiness it would be to me, 
if I could imagine that my remains would meet with 
the same blessed fate! Make me but one promise, 
dear Sir !”• she exclaimed, seizing my hand, and looking 
up imploringly in my face, whilst her large eyes swam 


TIIE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


25 


in tears. “ Promise me, that if I die before you quit 
this world, should you have it in your power to com- 
mand the event, that you will endeavour to fulfil my 
earnest desire, that my body may also rest under this 
green sod. It would almost rob death of its most pain- 
ful sting, to know that I should repose here, when all 
my troubles in this life are over!” 

I looked at the little girl in surprise. These words 
were not in accordance with the usual joyous spirit of 
Rosalie; they grated on my ear as unnatural and pro- 
phetic. I, however, attributed them to the excitement 
of the moment, and endeavoured to sooth and com- 
fort her to the best of my ability; but this was not to 
be accomplished, she could not be consoled. 

It was so painful a period of my life, that, even 
now, I hate to dwell upon its recollection ; it brings 
tears to my eyes, and tortures my very soul ; it was the 
termination to the only really happy years I ever 
passed. Suffice it to say, that the next day I left my 
nest of peace, and many a sorrowing heart behind 
me ; but now my subdued spirit endeavours to calm 
itself with the conviction, that although few, indeed, 
may be the lasting springs of joy which our Father in 
Heaven permits us here to taste — still, in our way 
through this desert, it is His unseen hand, that gently 
guides us through its troubles, to that home where our 
weary spirits will be at rest. 

My narrative, from this period, must assume a dif- 
ferent form, for I am not able to relate, as an eye-wit- 
ness, all the details that follow ; I have been assisted 
in my story, partly by what I have gathered from the 
relation of others, and partly by extracts from a jour- 
nal written by Rosalie, which fell into my hands some 
time since. I was, however, an actor in many of the 
principal scenes, and, therefore, am my own historian, 
in many instances. 

I sometimes think that my friend, who urged me to 
present this story to the public, has been mistaken in 
the idea that it will interest all, equally with himself. 
He has seen and known many of the dramatis personce 

vol. i.— 3 


THE YOUN® PRIMA DONNA. 


26 

of the narrative. His personal interest has been ex- 
cited, by hearing, from my own lips, the fond praises 
that their virtues have excited. But 1 must crave 
pardon of the gentle reader if I am tedious, and excuse 
myself by saying, that I have not willingly intruded 
myself upon their notice. 




CHAPTER V. 

After my departure, I found that the whole village 
were sorrowing for my loss. Let not my readers 
deem me presumptuous or an egotist, for thus openly 
glorifying myself ; so it was, and I cannot help feeling 
proud that I should have held such a place, in the 
hearts of so many kind and excellent people. 

The Belmont family felt my absence in various 
ways; for besides having the honour and happiness of 
being considered ,by them in the light of a most inti- 
mate friend, I was the almoner to all their charities 
— the promoter and executor of all their views and 
desires with regard to the parish of Fairbourne. 
They thought it would be long (if, indeed, ever,) be- 
fore they could be on the same terms with the new 
incumbent. 

But, of all the mourners, poor Rosalie was the sad- 
dest. Besides the grief of parting with me, who had 
loved her as a daughter, with much had the poor 
child to contend. Her mother had, for some time, 
appeared more than usually jealous of her visits to 
the Abbey ; and, almost immediately after my depar- 
ture, dark hints were thrown out by her, that soon 
there would be an end of all that was now going for- 
ward. 

She said that “ Rosalie was not to suppose that she 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


27 


was always to go on leading the life of a fine lady, 
and to be entirely under the control of others — that 
she had different views for her, far more advantageous 
than those now offered to her. A governess, indeed 1 
what would she get by that? It might do well enough 
for Rosalie individually, but it would be of little bene- 
fit to herself. No,” she added, “ we must think of 
what will bring in the most money, for lam quite sick 
of living in such a dull, hugger-mugger manner in this 
stupid village !” 

Rosalie looked at her mother with surprise, and 
shuddered, fearing — she knew not what. She also 
remarked that Mrs. illton had lately been in the con- 
stant habit of receiving letters, which always ap- 
peared to throw her into an ecstasy of good humour. 
The poor child was miserable; her high spirits seemed 
to have completely flown. 

“ Rosalie,” said Lady Gertrude, as she entered, 
with rapid steps and joyful countenance, the little 
boudoir, where she generally passed her leisure hours 
with her friend, “ cheer up, I have delightful news for 
you ; I have been talking to mamma, and she has given 
me leave to tell you, that you are to go with us to 
London.” 

Rosalie’s colour, which had risen at the commence- 
ment of this speech, quickly faded away, and, with 
deep sadness in her voice, she said, 

“ Charming, indeed, Lady Gertrude, had I the least 
hope of it^ being realized ; but of this there is not 
the slightert chance. My mother will never allow me 
to go with ’you.” 

“Oh! nonsense! Rosalie, you will see if I do not 
succeed; I shall go to Mrs. Elton, and not leave 
her, until I extort the permission we so much de- 
sire.” 

Rosalie still shook her head mournfully. 

“ You may go ; the plan is too delightful for me to 
put any obstacle in the way of its accomplishment, 
but I am quite hopeless as to your success. 1 cannot 
imagine what is hanging over my head, like a dark 


28 


THE YOUNG PRIM A DONNA. ♦ 


cloud just ready to burst ; but I am certain that my 
mother meditates some great change. Whatever it 
may be, I fear my days at Fairbourne are numbered; 
and if that be the case, farewell to all happiness ! — 
my doom is sealed !” 

“ Do not indulge in such melancholy ideas, dear 
Rosalie,” exclaimed Lady Gertrude, turning almost 
pale, as she listened to the dark forebodings of her 
loved companion; “we cannot afford to lose you, and 
we will keep you by main force, if necessary,” she 
added, in a lively tone, in order, if possible, to dispel 
the gloom which had also taken hold of her own feelings. 
“ We shall all be so happy in London. Only fancy 
the delight of your first visit to the Opera and the 
Ancient concert ! How charmed you will be with 
them ! — I expect we shall exist upon music this spring. 
I shall lose no time in going to your mother, so shall 
be off this moment,” and she, lovely creature, tripped 
away with all the light-heartedness of youth, which 
draws every thing down to its own happy level. She 
felt certain that she must gain her point. 

In a few moments she arrived at the white cottage, 
and there found the uninteresting mother of our Rosa- 
lie. As she passed the little parlour window. Lady Ger- 
trude perceived that she was busily employed in 
writing a letter; and, to the quick eye of her young 
visiter, it was very evident that such an occupation 
was no slight effort. A dictionary was open before 
her, also a half worn out Murray’s grammar, into 
which Lady Gertrude believed she had been constant- 
ly peeping, during the course of her labours. 

Although in her heart, Mrs. Elton disliked the Bel- 
mont family, she looked upon every member of it 
with a great degree of awe; even the children were 
personnages of great importance in her eyes. She, 
therefore, received Lady Gertrude with much over- 
strained civility and obsequiousness, and with many 
smiles and courtesies; but when she heard the object 
of her mission, her countenance altered — she looked 
perplexed and provoked. 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


29 


“ She was very sorry,” she said, “ but it was quite 
out of the question, totally impossible ; her plans for 
Rosalie, and, indeed, for herself, had changed much 
of late ; she was not at liberty at present to say what 
they were ; she was under a promise of secrecy to a 
friend ; it was her duty to do as much as she could 
to advance the fortunes of her child; the prospect 
which was now open to her, was a certain provision, 
therefore, although she was sorry to. disoblige Lady 
Belmont, and Lady Gertrude, still she really could not 
allow Rosalie to leave her just then, and, indeed,”' 
she added, putting on a very dismal ill-used counte- 
nance, “ as it is, I have made many sacrifices for the 
sake of indulging that child ; and when I think of the 
lonely miserable hours,. I have passed since I came to 
this village, I only wonder how I have so long en- 
dured it; and she all the time having nothing but 
pleasure, and advantages from morning till night ; it 
has been very fine for Rosalie, but very hard upon 
me — that every body must allow.” 

Lady Gertrude could scarcely command her pa- 
tience; she felt so mortified and provoked; but find- 
ing that she could make no impression upon this silly, 
obstinate woman, she left her, filled with deep regret 
at the failure of her scheme, and with all sorts of 
fears for the future destiny of her friend. Something 
there certainly was in view for Rosalie ,*■ and in such 
hands, Lady Gertrude feared indeed* that it could be 
nothing advantageous for her. However, with the 
kindness and judgment, which directed all the actions 
of this sweet girl, remembering the excessive dejec- 
tion of spirits under which Rosalie had laboured, ever 
since my departure, she determined not to make- 
known to her the extent of her fears, and to soften 
Mrs. Elton’s refusal, as much as possible. 

Our poor little heroine, from an open window saw 
Lady Gertrude approach, and from her. slow steps and 
languid air, immediately guessed that there was no hope 
for her. On Lady Gertrude’s entering the apartment, 
the tears which fell from her eyes, (although she made; 

3 * 


30 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


a strong effort to check them) confirmed her well- 
grounded fears. 

Rosalie now had nothing left but to weep her re- 
grets on the bosom of her friend, whose sorrow al- 
most equalled her own. 

Lady Gertrude seized the first opportunity of con- 
ferring with Lady Belmont upon the subject, and ask- 
ing her advice. This kind mother was ever the re- 
pository of all the thoughts, and wishes of her chil- 
dren. 

She participated warmly in the interest, which they 
all felt for Rosalie, but scarcely knew what to recom- 
mend, or what course to pursue ! Mrs. Elton had 
certainly a right over the actions of her own child ; 
but to satisfy the earnest entreaties of her daughter, 
although she felt almost an aversion to Mrs. Elton, 
for the vulgarity and vanity of her whole bearing, 
still rather than see her Gertrude unhappy, she pro- 
mised that she would herself solicit, the boon so much 
desired — the society of Rosalie during their stay in 
London. 

But even the Marchioness of Belmont was refused, 
and in a manner which precluded all hope of suc- 
cess. 

“ I have sent for you, Mademoiselle,” said Lady 
Belmont, one morning soon after this event had taken 
place, to the German governess, “ to talk to you upon 
the subject of our joint pet and protegee, poor Rosa- 
lie. Can you at all enlighten me as to her odious mo- 
ther’s views, with regard to her?” 

Mademoiselle Kramer, with much concern in her 
manner, mentioned her perfect ignorance upon the 
subject. 

“ En effet,Miladi ,” she continued, “ c’est une femme 
si desagriable, si vulgaire, et en outre si suffisante, que 
j pour moi, je Vevite autant que possible ; elle ne merite 
pas depossider une file telle que notre aimable Rosa - 
lie.” 

“I agree with you perfectly, Mademoiselle; the 
poor child has been nurtured with sucti tenderness 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


SI 


and kindness amongst us all, that she will break her 
heart, if she is thrown into the society of vulgar, 
coarse-minded people. I sometimes fear, Mademoi- 
selle, that voice of hers, which we have been culti- 
vating with such eagerness, and pleasure, may prove 
her misfortune, after all. Does it ever strike you that 
her mother intends to bring her out as a professional 
singer?” 

Mademoiselle Kramer shook her head, with a very 
sorrowful expression, but was silent. 

The Marchioness proceeded : 

“ I should deplore such an event, for many reasons; 
I should hate to see the dear little girl who has been 
brought up, like one of our own children, enter a life 
of such slavery and publicity — to say nothing of the 
little degree of respectability, that attends the career 
of a public performer. However pure and excellent 
the individual may ever continue, the very asso- 
ciating, and being in continual contact with those, 
whose reputation is tarnished, throws a cloud, a 
blight over the most innocent. Perhaps you may 
think me severe, but with my ideas upon the subject, 
were Rosalie to embark in such a profession, under 
the guidance of so weak a mother, much as I love 
her, with my present opinions, I should no longer 
consider her a proper companion, still less a bosom 
friend for my daughters ; and to have such a bar- 
rier placed between them, would make my gentle 
Gertrude truly unhappy. As a governess, although 
her life may be one of drudgery^ and oftimes of an- 
noyance and dteagr'emens, on the score of respectabi- 
lity, I deem it equal to every other ; and though it 
may be a humbler vocation than theirs will be, still 
my children might ever have felt happy to call her 
their friend, although her fate had cast her in a more 
retired — more lowly sphere. I am sure, you know 
that such would be the case, dear Mademoiselle,” 
continued Lady Belmont, “ for I hope you are aware, 
that we have no friend, whom we more truly prize 
than yourself.” 


32 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


Mademoiselle, with glistening eyes, could only 
press the kind hand which was held out to her. She 
could not speak ; her heart was full of love and gra- 
titude towards her noble patroness, mingled with sor- 
row and care for the future prospects of her loved 
young pupil. 

The day at length was fixed for the departure of 
the family. Poor Rosalie drooped like a little fading 
flower. Even her voice seemed gone; she could 
not bring forth a single note to gratify the Marquis 
with a parting song. If she could have felt comfort- 
ed, it would have been by all the kindness of this 
charming family. 

Lady Belmont, the day previous to leaving the 
Abbey, called her into her dressing-room, and after 
making her some useful and valuable presents of dress 
and books, said in the most soothing accents: — 

“ My dear Rosalie, you are aware that you owe a 
paramount duty to your mother, and of course, her 
will must be your law ; but remember that I shall al- 
ways be your friend, and ever ready to serve you to 
the extent of my power; so will the Marquis, and 
every member of our family. As for Gertrude, you 
know how much she loves you ; therefore, do not 
give way to so much sorrow, my love. We have 
often parted before, and met again in happiness.” 

“ There is no more happiness for me I” exclaimed 
Rosalie, as she knelt before the Marchioness and bu- 
ried her face on her knees; “but, dear Lady, believe 
me when I say, that whatever is destined to be the 
fate of the poor little girl your bounty and kindness 
have so long made the happiest of the happy — the re- 
membrance of your generosity, your angelic good- 
ness,, will be the only bright thought — the stay of her 
existence.” 

After a short pause, which was not interrupted by 
Lady Belmont, (for the agitation of Rosalie had com- 
municated itself to her own kind heart,) she conti- 
nued, looking, up with clasped hands and streaming, 
eyes : 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


33 


“ And I feel that the aspect of my destiny is indeed 
about to alter, oh ! so sadly alter; do not forget me, 
dear kind friend, think of me with indulgence, what- 
ever may be my fate, for however far I may be re- 
moved from you all, I shall ever remain the same in 
heart ; the precepts I have learnt, whilst blessed by 
living under your influence, will preserve me virtuous, 
although I may be debarred for the future, from the 
happiness of being with you.” 

Lady Belmont was much affected ; she raised her 
in her arms, and affectionately kissed the poor girl, 
then, leading her into the school-room, she gave her 
into the charge of Mademoiselle Kramer, one of her 
most devoted friends, requesting that she would en- 
deavour to calm her, before she again joined Lady 
Gertrude, who was almost as miserable as herself. 

However much we may wish to retard the dreaded 
moment of an impending, and certain event, it will 
at length appear ; in vain we weep over the expecta- 
tion of its arrival, and fondly struggle to retain our 
present happiness a little longer. The blow will fall. 
The wretched moment had indeed arrived to poor 
Rosalie, for the Belmont family were gone, and she 
was left in 1 



CHAPTER VI. 


From the moment of the departure of the family, 
Rosalie perceived that her mother was in a most ex- 
traordinary state of preparation and excitement. Her 
wardrobe seemed to be undergoing a complete in- 
vestigation, repair, and embellishment. Some dis- 
closure was constantly on her lips, which it cost her 
much difficulty to restrain. Many a faded, and once 
smart dress, which had not seen the light of day for 


34 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


years, was taken from its place of obscurity, and the 
village mantua-maker’s powers were put into requisi- 
tion, to remodel it, if possible, according to the pre- 
vailing fashion. 

Rosalie was often called upon to be umpire, upon 
some matter of taste, and to decide whether a pink 
or a blue riband, was the most becoming to the still 
handsome face of her mother, as a cap was about to 
be manufactured, after the pattern she had borrowed 
from one of the Abbey lady’s maids. 

Our heroine was all amazement at what she saw, 
but she was so unhappy at the moment, that she felt 
glad her mother had any subject to amuse her mind, 
and draw her attention from herself, thus enabling her 
to pass most of her time in the dear school-room at 
the Abbey. 

During the absence of the family, this apartment 
was left open for her use. She always found a bright 
fire burning in the grate, and books and music, by 
which means she could pursue her studies, without 
interruption. 

This was the only comfort which now remained to 
her, and it was with reluctance that she could tear 
herself away from this delightful solitude. 

One day on her return home, she saw that some- 
thing unusual had occurred ; both Mrs. Elton and 
the servant were bustling about in all directions, full 
of business and preparation. The moment her mo- 
ther perceived Rosalie, she exclaimed: “What a 
time you have been away this morning, child, I have 
been wanting you for a thousand different things; 
perhaps you are not aware,” she continued, seating 
herself, looking very much heated by her exertions, 
and assuming a very consequential and mysterious 
air, “ that I have for some time been expecting a 
visiter, and this morning’s post brought me a letter, 
which intimates that he will be here to-night.” 

“ A visiter!” exclaimed Rosalie, in surprise. “ Who 
can it be?” 

And her heart beat violently, and her colour rose ; 


35 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 

for a moment, she thought it might be myself, and 
that my return was expected as a joyful surprise to 
her. 

“ The gentleman who is to arrive,” resumed her 
mother, “ you have before seen, and a charming 
person he is; much will his society enliven our soli- 
tude. Indeed,” she continued looking down, and 
putting on an air of almost maiden bashfulness, “I 
trust we shall make him so happy, that he will be in 
no haste to leave us.” 

Again the thought flashed across Rosalie’s mind, 
that it might be Fitz-Ernest, or one of his brothers, 
who had promised to pass a day with them at the cot- 
tage, which they had once or twice before done, 
during the absence of the rest of the family. 

“ Pray, mamma, tell me who it is,” she exclaimed, 
impatiently. 

“ You recollect that delightful gentleman who was 
here in the autumn, during the Duke’s stay at the 
Abbey, who was so kind, and condescending as to no- 
tice you, Rosalie, and who did you the great honour 
of admiring your singing.” 

“ But which gentleman ?” asked Rosalie, for praise 
she remembered had issued from more than one pair 
of lips; at that time, it flowed universally. 

“ Why, to tell you the truth,” continued Mrs. Elton, 
“ although the proud Marchioness did not vouchsafe 
to ask me to the Abbey during that period — which I 
always considered extremely rude — 1 was still for- 
tunate enough, through the excessive politeness and 
attention, of one of the party, to receive some courte- 
sy, which I think was only due to me, considering 
that I was the mother of the girl who was entertain- 
ing all the company. This polite gentleman visited 
me frequently ; and most insinuating and delightful I 
found him.” 

“ But who was it, mamma ? Pray, pray, tell me.” 

“ 1 wonder you are so stupid, as not to be able to 
guess at once — Signor Gabrielli, of course, that de- 
lightful, accomplished creature.” 


36 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


What, that dark-looking, odious foreigner, whom 
dear Mr. Leslie used to dislike so very much? Oh, 
mamma ! I hope you are only joking !” 

Mrs. Elton looked most violently offended. 

“ Joking, indeed, Miss Rosalie, I see no joke in the 
matter, and I think you are extremely impertinent, thus 
to speak of a person to whom I am so much attached. 
Mr. Leslie, indeed ! pretty notions to put into your 
head. I suppose he only admires those who are like 
his own prim self. He is not my pattern, I can tell 
you. You had better take care what you are about. 
You little know what is going to happen. You must 
be prepared to look up to Signor Gabrielli with re- 
spect ; aye, and with obedience also : and now, Miss, 
be so good as to go and assist Johnson in preparing 
for our supper to-night. You’ve been ruined and 
spoilt by those proud people at the Abbey ; I can tell 
you, you must lower yourself a peg or two if you 
please, before you are to get on, in the future life you 
are about to lead ; pray, leave your pride behind, with 
all your lords and ladies ; it will no longer be of any 
use to you.” 

Rosalie, frightened by her mother’s anger and vehe- 
mence, burst into tears, and left the room immediate- 
ly. She hastened to seek Johnson, the maid, of whom 
I believe I have already made mention as a sensible 
good woman ; she found her busy in her preparations 
for a supper. 

“ Good Heavens, Johnson !” cried Rosalie, as pale 
and trembling she stood before her, “ what does all 
this mean? Can you enlighten me as to the purport 
of my mother’s fearful words, and the arrival of this 
odious Italian ?” 

“ My dear child,” replied Johnson, shaking her head, 
and looking very much annoyed, “I have long expect- 
ed this ; but until I was quite certain, I thought I had 
better not torment you with my fears.*’ 

“ To what does all this lead ?” cried poor Rosalie, 
in an agony of terror. 

“ Well,” said Johnson, lowering her voice, “ ever 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


37 


since that man paid so many long visits here, during 
the Duke’s stay at the Abbey, your mother has had 
letters from him constantly ; and as far as I can dis- 
cover, from the hints she has thrown out, and the va- 
rious arrangements she has made, she is really going 
to marry him.” 

At this moment, Johnson cast her eyes upon Rosa- 
lie, whose pallid cheeks and closing eyes, showed that 
she was on the point of fainting. She took her into 
her arms and endeavoured to restore her. 

“ Poor dear child,” she ejaculated, as she bathed 
her forehead and chafed her cold hands, “ I feared it 
would be thus ; but what could I do ? There was no 
time left for me to break the news gently to her ; the 
man will be here so very soon !” 

Poor Rosalie was indeed in a dreadful state of agi- 
tation. With the idea of her mother’s marriage, the 
whole train of her future wretched course of existence 
exhibited itself to her view. To live eternally in the 
society, in the power of that man, whose odious man- 
ners, and sinister countenance had disgusted, not only 
herself, but all those whose opinions she most valued 
— what degradation ! what misery ! She was in such 
a state of despair, that her sobs were uncontrollable; 
not all the scoldings of her mother, who was attracted 
to the spot, by the audible sounds of her sorrow, nor 
the tender soothings of her nurse, had any power to 
calm her. They were obliged, at length, to give up 
the point; and Mrs. Elton, in great anger, and with 
much reluctance, was forced to allow Johnson to un- 
dress her, and assist her into her bed, where she lay, 
poor child, subdued and overwhelmed with unavailing 
grief. 

In the mean time, her mother was in all the delights 
of expectation, equipped in her regenerated finery. 
Signor Gabrielli at last arrived. Rosalie’s absence 
gave them an opportunity of settling their future plans 
undisturbed, and in the course of a long conversation 
between this worthy pair, the fate of our heroine was 
decided. Every thing was arranged for Mrs. Elton’s 
immediate marriage with the Italian. 

vol. i. — 4 


38 


THE YOUNG PRIM A DONNA. 


To enlighten my readers as to the origin of an event, 
which may, perhaps, cause them some surprise, it will 
be necessary to state the reasons which induced Sig- 
nor Gabrielli thus to encumber himself with this silly, 
penniless widow. 

Rosalie’s extraordinary talents had made the deep- 
est impression upon his mind ; in addition to the many 
other bad qualities, which he possessed, he was of a 
most sordid, avaricious turn. In the little girl, he at 
once discovered a mine of wealth. He had lately ac- 
cepted an engagement at one of the theatres in Italy. 

Calculating and cautious in the extreme, he consi- 
dered that the easiest, and even the cheapest manner 
of getting her completely into his hands, would be by 
marrying Mrs. Elton. He was penetrating and 
shrewd, and gathered sufficient information, from what 
he saw and heard, to be aware, that by no other means, 
could he detach Rosalie from the Belmont family, by 
whom she wasso much beloved. He gained from Made- 
moiselle Kramer, what were the views they had long set- 
tled with regard to her future life. He knew how power- 
ful would be their influence — how fastidious probably 
were their ideas; in short, the only certain, and legiti- 
mate mode of possessing a complete dominion over 
her, would be to entail upon himself the encumbrance 
of taking a wife, in the person of her mother. He 
shrugged up his shoulders, took a large pinch of snuff, 
and was for a few minutes irresolute. “ Che Diaxolol 
there is no good without a mixture of evil,” thought 
he. However Mrs. Elton was still a handsome wo- 
man, and such a fool, that he might easily bend her to 
all his wishes. To gain her consent was an affair 
soon and easily accomplished. As I have before said, 
she was heartily sick of the retirement in which she 
lived, and the idea of exchanging it, for the delights 
of Italy, was indeed charming, to say nothing of the 
companion, that was ensured to her — one whom she 
considered a most handsome specimen of a man. 
His black bushy locks, and enormous whiskers were 
very imposing to her ideas ; and she looked with ad- 
miration upon his hands, which, although constantly 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


39 


begrimed with snuff, were covered with sparkling 
rings, which she longed to transfer to her own taper 
fingers. 

She had, however, sufficient cunning, to know that 
the business had better be kept as quiet as possible, 
till nearer the period of its completion, for she foresaw 
great opposition to Rosalie’s departure, both from her- 
self, and the Belmont family, and well knew'that it 
would nearly break the heart of her poor child. This 
knowledge, however, did not for a moment make her 
hesitate to immolate that child, on the shrine of her 
own selfish desires. 

On the night of Gabrielli’s arrival at the white cot- 
tage, every final arrangement was made; as soon as the 
marriage had taken place they were to set off, with- 
out farther delay, to Italy. A year or two of intense 
labour, Gabrielli assured Mrs. Elton, would render 
her daughter quite capable of becoming Prima Donna 
of the Italian Opera in London — that is to say, if she 
would only grow a little taller; and nothing could be 
so favourable to that desired end, as a residence in the 
warm climate of Italy ; for considering the “ statura 
magnified della signora madre,” he saw no reason, 
why her daughter should not inherit such an advan- 
tage. 

From the success of such a scheme, what riches 
would pour forth! The Italian’s eyes glistened, and 
his smile was sardonic, as in his mind’s eye he calcu- 
lated the treasures that he intended to accumulate, 
through the means of this poor fragile child; and Mrs. 
Elton viewing the perspective loaded with new caps 
and dresses, gossip, and tea parties, joined in this 
feeling of exultation, which beamed from the counte- 
nance of her intended. 

In order that the marriage might take place, with 
as little publicity as possible, it was arranged that in 
the course of a fortnight, which would just give Mrs. 
Elton time to dispose of her little property at Fair- 
bourne, she should, accompanied by Rosalie, join 
him in London, when, immediately after the wed- 


40 . 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


ding, they might commence their continental expe- 
dition. 

Mrs. Elton found that she had a much more difficult 
task to accomplish, with regard to Rosalie, than she 
had anticipated; she had imagined, that she would be 
all meekness and submission; but in the breast of Ro- 
salie lay hitherto dormant the strongest feelings. 
They had scarcely, as yet, been excited, for the last 
five years of her short life had passed in tranquil hap- 
piness; she had been nurtured by praise and tender- 
ness — in a degree almost spoilt. I confess with sad- 
ness, for my part, that I had the greatest share in 
over-indulging her; but there was something about the 
child so sweet — so endearing, that never had I tried 
her temper by one harsh word. 

The next morning found our poor heroine in a stateof 
indignant agony and distress; her spirit had not yet been 
subdued by sorrow, and she rebelled against her pre- 
sent trial. Life, she beheld for the first time in all its 
gloom ; a dark cloud seemed to hang over it. It is 
but too true, chat the present constitution of human 
nature cannot bear uninterrupted prosperity, without 
being in a degree enervated by it. The poisonous 
weeds, which spring up in that too luxurious soil, re- 
quire the hand of adversity, to extirpate them ; it is 
the experience of sorrow and distress that subdues the 
arrogance of our nature, and softens the innate selfish- 
ness of our hearts. Rosalie hid her face upon her 
pillow and wept ; she would not leave her room ; no- 
thing could induce her to meet-the odious man, whom 
her mother told her, she must henceforth reverence as 
a father. 

From threats and scolding, Mrs. Elton was obliged 
at last to have recourse to entreaties that she would 
get up, and receive Signor Gabrielli with a cheerful 
countenance; but Rosalie was inflexible. At length 
her mother, in extreme anger and perplexity, with a 
very bad grace, gave way to her wishes, and dissem- 
bling her own feelings, made it appear to her future 
lord and master, that continued illness had confined 


THE YOUNG FRIMA DONNA. 


41 


Rosalie to her chamber. Gabrielli was provoked at 
this intelligence ; he longed again to hear her sing, to 
feast his eyes upon the casket, from whence was to 
proceed such future treasures ! 

Fortunately for poor Rosalie the next day the Ita- 
lian was obliged to depart. After he was gone, John- 
son prevailed upon her to get up, and be dressed. 
This good soul was shocked with the alteration which 
so short a space of grief had made in the countenance 
of her dear child. There now appeared upon it a fixed, 
and almost a sullen gloom. She had ceased to weep, 
but she spoke not. 

Her mother endeavoured to make some impression 
upon her, by scolding her violently; but she soon saw 
that was not the way to move her ; she then changed 
her tone to coaxing, and expatiated upon the advan- 
tages and delight of a journey to Italy. She spoke 
loudly in praise of the “ charming man,” who was 
soon to be so closely allied to them ; but all she said 
only redoubled the agony which plainly showed itself 
upon the expressive features' of Rosalie, and she gene- 
rally concluded, by abusing her as an unnatural, stub- 
born, ungrateful girl,“ who had no feeling for her own 
flesh and blood.” 

I suppose the torture of mind the poor child endured 
at this time cannot be described. She had not suffi- 
cient experience in misery, to fly to the only consola- 
tion which was offered to her — prayers and supplica- 
tions to Heaven for support : she had not yet looked 
up to Heaven as a refuge, and, finding all on earth 
unstable — inconstant, she had yet to turn, in the help- 
lessness of misery, to Him, whose ears are ever open 
to the prayer of the sorrowful. At that moment she 
had but one feeling— a burning anxiety to be with 
some of us. Had she known where I was, she would 
have sought me without delay ; but she was ignorant 
of the actual place of my destination. 

I have heard from Johnson, who supplied me with 
many of the details of my story, that for several days 
succeeding the events I have just recorded, she always 
found her, after long absences from the cottage, in. the 
4 * 


42 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


church-yard, seated on a grave-stone, close to the spot 
we had fixed upon as our mutual burial place. She 
was never weeping, but there was a fixed and rigid 
expression in her countenance which told of an in- 
ward conflict, that must have been agonizing to en- 
dure. 

In the mean time, Mrs. Elton went on in joyful pre- 
paration for their departure ; at intervals, however, 
much irritated by the continued and alarming depres- 
sion of her daughter and also by the evident disincli- 
nation which Johnson evinced to the change in their 
prospects. The latter had been a devoted servant 
to Mrs. Elton ! for, although she plainly saw the foi- 
bles of her mistress, for whom she could not feel much 
respect — still, the love she bore the child she had 
nursed from its infancy, made her endure every in- 
convenience, and all the folly and occasional ill-hu- 
mour of the mother, rather than lose sight of that dear 
nursling over whom she had so long watched. She 
did not scruple to express her opinion openly upon the 
subject of the approaching marriage ; and so unlimited 
was her censure, that had not Mrs. Elton known how 
necessary she was to her comfort, she would, proba- 
bly, have highly resented the freedom. * 

The time wore on rapidly, and there were but two 
days intervening before the one that was fixed for 
their departure for London. 

What-a moment for Rosalie ! “ Must I then leave thee, 
Paradise!” well might she have exclaimed, when she 
looked round upon the smiling scene, which she was 
about to quit, she sadly feared forever. , 




CHAPTER VII. 

It was late in the evening, and Rosalie, who had 
been abs nt all the morning, had not yet returned. 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


43 


Mrs. Elton and Johnson had been so much engaged 
during the day, that her non-appearance passed un- 
heeded by them. The latter knew that at the Abbey 
she would be well cared for. She was a general fa- 
vourite there, and the old housekeeper was as anxious 
about her as if she had been her own child ; she 
overwhelmed her with attentions, particularly now 
that she saw her low spirited and suffering. Many a 
cup of warm jelly or nourishing broth, she endeavour- 
ed to force upon the poor languid-looking girl. Ro- 
salie, to please her, tried sometimes to swallow a small 
portion of the dainties which the good woman had 
prepared with her own hands — but her appetite had 
completely failed her. 

This evening, as I have before said, Rosalie re- 
turned not to her home i-t grew dark, and still she 
did not appear. 

Johnson became very anxious, and her mother ex- 
pressed what she felt by abusing her — as usual. 

“ What a tiresome, headstrong girl she has be- 
come,” she muttered ; “ always giving so much trou- 
ble,” she added, as she saw Johnson leave her pack- 
ing, and about to depart in search of her. “We shall 
find her, I fear, a great plague; I wish I had never 
settled myself at fairbourne — she has been quite ruined 
by the people here.” 

In the mean time, Johnson sought the Abbey with 
rapid steps. 

“ Mrs. Smith !” she exclaimed, as she entered the 
housekeeper's room, “ of course, Miss Rosalie is here?” 
— But Mrs. Smith assured her that she had not been 
seen at the Abbey that day ! 

“ Indeed,” continued the good woman, “ I have had 
some chicken broth by the side of my fire ever since 
the morning, and some nice thin biscuits, to tempt the 
dear child to take a little nourishment; I have been 
quite vexed that she did not come.” 

Johnson’s heart sank within her ; but she instantly 
set out, accompanied by several of the servants, to 
search for Rosalie in every direction — no trace of 
her was to be discovered. All her usual haunts. 


44 


THE YOUNG FRIMA DONNA. 


were explored in vain ; and, after hours of fruitless 
endeavours to find her lost child, poor Johnson re- 
turned home half distracted, with apprehension and 
distress. 

Mrs. Elton was now in good earnest alarmed. The 
morning dawned, but no Rosalie appeared. In her 
present dilemma she thought it best to write to Ga- 
brielli for the assistance of his advice. Even with all 
her conceit and ignorance, she had sufficient penetra- 
tion to be aware that she should fall very short in 
the estimation of her admirer, if she did not bring 
with her a rich dower, in the person of her talented 
child. 

But where was Rosalie all this time ? Let us leave, 
for a short space, the inhabitants of the white cottage 
in all their alarm and consternation, and follow her 
footsteps. The day on which she was missed from 
Fairbourne, she had risen from her bed with a heart 
more than usually heavy ; a sleepless night had added 
to the misery of her feelings, and the idea of the near 
approach of her departure, which was to be the com- 
mencement of her new and dreaded career, presented 
itself to her imagination with redoubled horror. She 
dressed herself hastily, and sought the fresh air ; she 
imagined that her griefs would feel lighter under its 
refreshing influence. Towards the rectory she bent 
her steps, the first time for many a day ; although the 
church-yard had been her favourite haunt, she always 
sedulously turned her eyes from encountering objects, 
the sight of which would recall scenes of such past 
happiness, that, now heart-stricken as she was, she 
could not view without torture. But still she must 
once more look upon it, and breathe a long — a last 
farewell; she dared not enter the gates; the new rector 
had taken possession of the place, and she was in no 
mood to encounter strangers. 

Poor Rosalie!— She leant over the palings, and 
strained her tearful eyes by gazing upon the well-be- 
loved spot. How fragrant was the perfume of the 
air, which wafted over so many of my cherished 
plants. A shower had just fallen — every thing was 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


45 


fresh and green, with the early tint of spring. The 
last spring! — how happy was she then! — We were 
both bugy with some new flower beds : there they were 
in rich luxuriance, and the bright colours of the plants 
were now blossoming for others ! 

What a tale of happiness did every feature of the 
place recall! — The open window, which disclosed the 
interior of the little study. Oh ! how she longed to 
see my countenance looking from it, to greet her, as 
it had been ever wont to do, with the most affectionate 
smile of welcome ! Now all was cold — silent as the 
grave. Long did the poor girl remain^ rapt in all the 
misery of painful contemplation, and only left, with 
slow and lingering steps, on perceiving some of the 
present occupants approaching. 

She turned at once into the park, and soon found 
herself in the flower garden. Here her recollections 
were not less agonizing. — “ Oh! Gertrude! Gertrude!” 
she exclaimed, as every object associated with the 
image of her sweet friend met her eye; “ what would 
I give to behold you once more ! — I must — I really 
must see you. I have not even heard from you lately. 
What is the cause of your silence? I cannot con- 
tinue to exist without seeing you, if it is but for one 
short hour ! — cost what it may — I will go to you !” 

At this moment, a thought had darted across her 
mind. She remembered that a London coach passed 
through the village every day, at twelve o’clock. 

“I will go to them,” she continued; “I can endure 
this load of wretchedness no longer without advice — 
with no one to tell me what I really ought to do. If 
they assure me that my path of duty is to submit, I 
will endeavour to*do so; but from their lips must I 
hear my doom pronounced. Oh ! dear Mr. Leslie, 
where are you? — why do you hide yourself from your 
poor little Rosalie? — Why are you not here to direct 
my steps? — to teach me to bow with submission to 
the trials that await me? Until I see you, my heart 
will remain rebellious — wrong as it may be.” 

She reflected for an instant, and then hastily re- 
turned to the cottage, where, unheeded by her mother 


46 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


or Johnson, she deliberately made up a small parcel, 
and taking with her a purse, which the kindness of 
Lady Belmont had well filled, again sallied forth. 
She knew that in the course of an hour the coach 
would overtake her; it stopped to water the horses at 
a small public house on the road-side, there she re- 
quested to be taken up, and in a very few minutes, 
was rolling rapidly on towards London. 

It was a long and fatiguing journey, for the coach 
did not arrive at its place of destination until the next 
morning ; but the excitement of Rosalie’s mind was 
so great that she felt it not. Her sensations were of 
a mixed nature, but those of relief, and almost joy, 
predominated. To feel that she should so soon be 
with her beloved friends, was exquisite delight ; still 
the remembrance of having so abruptly left her mo- 
ther, caused a shadow to fall over the brightness of 
the prospect. 

Fortunately for Rosalie, her only travelling com- 
panion was an old lady, who seemed to take a great 
fancy to our heroine, and perceiving how pale and 
exhausted she looked, insisted upon her taking some 
refreshment; and when they stopped at the Borough, 
she kindly saw her into a coach, giving, at the same 
time, instructions to the driver, to proceed to the man- 
sion of Lord Belmont, which was in Piccadilly. 

How long appeared the distance, until she reached 
the haven for which she panted ! She was frightened 
and bewildered by this, her first introduction to the bus- 
tling, noisy city of London. At length, she was before 
the doors of Belmont House; she saw the well-known 
livery, and many a well-remembered face amongst 
the servants; she sprang from the coach, and was 
soon in the arms of her dear Lady Gertrude ; there, 
she felt safe, and for a moment, all her former wretch- 
edness was forgotten. 

The surprise of the family, on seeing Rosalie, was 
very great ; and when they heard her story, they 
were indeed perplexed, and much concerned : none 
of the letters which she had written to them upon the 
subject, had been received, and Rosalie now felt con- 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


47 


vinced that her mother had intercepted her corre- 
spondence, for she discovered that they had been 
equally astonished, at not having heard from her, in 
answer to the many letters that had been despatched 
to Fairbourne. 

Her kind friends soon perceived, that after the first 
glow which happiness spread over her countenance, 
had faded away, she was in a most exhausted and 
uncomfortable state; indeed, when she had stated 
every circumstance of her present position, the colour 
gradually left her cheeks, and a succession of faint- 
ing fits, alarmed and distressed all those around her. 
She was carried to her bed, from which she was un- 
able to move for weeks, as her life was in great dan- 
ger, from the effects of a nervous fever. 

In the mean time, Lady Belmont felt that she was 
placed in a very embarrassing situation. Truly did 
she compassionate the fate of Rosalie, and to avert 
the evils which menaced her, she was ready to make 
every exertion;, but she foresaw every description of 
difficulty. I was summoned immediately to assist 
the family with the aid of my advice, and I found my 
poor little protegee in a most lamentable state, both of 
mind and body. 

How kind! how liberal were the views of all the 
Belmonts with regard to her. I can never forget the 
impression it made upon my mind, and the admiration 
which not only this trait in their characters excited, 
but 1 may also say, the constant tenor of their bene- 
volent lives. They did, indeed, shed light and lustre 
over the sphere in which they moved. Rich is their 
reward in this life, in peace of conscience, in the ap- 
proval of the wise and good ; but glorious and trans- 
cendent will be their lot, we must humbly hope, in 
Heaven, on that day when the Lord “ maketh up his 
jewels.” 

The Marchioness had immediately written to Mrs. 
Elton, to inform her of the unexpected arrival of Ro- 
salie; but no answer did she receive to this commu- 
nication, until one morning Signor Gabrielli was an- 
nounced, and requested to have a private interview 


48 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


with Lady Belmont. This, however, she declined, 
insisting that I should be present during the audience. 
The odious creature was then admitted. He was, as 
usual all bows and servility ; and with much theatri- 
cal gesticulation, said that he had come “ de la part 
de sa chlre epouse,” to claim her daughter, as they 
were on the point of leaving England for the conti- 
nent. Lady Belmont told him that her removal was 
at present quite impossible, on account of her severe 
illness, but that Madame Gabrielli should have free ac- 
cess to her, whenever she wished to see her; and 
strongly recommended that Johnson should be sent 
immediately, as she, of course, would be a comfort to 
the invalid. 

She then stated her wishes and views with regard 
to Rosalie, which were most kind and liberal. 

She said that, in the event of Madame Gabrielli’s 
consenting to give up Rosalie to their care, Lord Bel- 
mont and herself would enter into an agreement with 
them, engaging to provide amply for her, and that 
every care should be taken to advance her in re- 
spectability and happiness. 

The subtle Italian, through all his endeavours to 
disguise his feelings, was evidently perplexed and en- 
raged at this proposal, so difficult to reject, from its 
extreme eligibility with regard to Rosalie. 

He talked a great deal about the tender heart of 
his carissima sposa, and the extreme attachment she 
felt towards her child, all of which he knew was a 
mere fagon de parler; however, he said he would 
consult with her, although he feared she never would 
consent to the very generous, and noble offer of Ma- 
dame la Marquise. 

We at once foresaw that such" would be the case ; 
for it was easy to perceive, that the cupidity of the 
man was excited, and that it was, in order to make 
money by the poor girl, that he was so anxious to 
keep her firmly within his clutches. 

Oh ! how I wished for riches? for I believe, had I 
possessed them, I should have bribed the man at any 
price, rather than sacrifice her to such a wretch, and 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


49 


to a future existence, which would be to her, con- 
stituted as I knew her to be, misery itself. 

Lady Gertrude and I used to converse for hours 
upon the subject, but we could not inspire each other 
with any thing like hope. 

A letter arrived from Madame Gabrielli evidently 
not composed by herself. It was a mixture of servi- 
lity and impertinence; but its purport was to express, 
that no power on earth, nor offers of any description, 
would induce her to give up her child; she hinted that 
no one else had any right over the actions of Rosalie, 
but herself, and as her mother she commanded her 
to return to her, the very moment she was able to 
leave her room, since already, Signor Gabrielli’s plans 
had been seriously deranged by her inconvenient ill- 
ness. She wished for no other communication upon 
the subject, from any quarter, as her decision was ir- 
revocably made ; and, therefore, it was utterly use- 
less for any one to attempt to alter 4 her fixed determi- 
nation. She concluded this composition, by some 
overstrained expressions of gratitude to the Marchio- 
ness, which did not accord very harmoniously, with 
the other part of her epistle — and thus ended our 
hopes. 

It was a sad task to communicate this intelligence 
to poor Rosalie, who was slowly recovering; but still I 
was obliged to do so. I found the only path 1 had 
now to pursue, was not uselessly to condole with her, 
but to endeavour to strengthen her mind, to enable her 
to bear her misfortunes with fortitude. As she lay, 
poor little girl, on the sofa, pale and exhausted, from 
both mental and bodily sufferings, I talked to her se- 
riously and firmly. 

I besought her to cling for support, to Him from 
whom alone it could proceed; which was the only means 
of enabling her to look calmly upon the evils that 
threatened the future. I tried to enforce upon her 
mind, that the defence which religion provides, is in- 
deed a “ shield and buckler,” which the Almighty 
spreads before the believer, to cover him “ from the 
terror of night, and the arrow that flieth by day;” 

VOL. i. — 5 


THE YOUNG FRIMA DONNA. 


■50 

when the time of trouble comes — and come it must to 
all — that it places the virtuous under the pavillion of 
the Almighty, by affording them that relief, which 
arises from the belief of the divine protection; it opens 
to them sources of consolation, which are hidden from 
others by the additional strength of mind, with which 
it endows them ; it sets them upon a rock, against 
which the tempest may beat, but which it cannot 
shake. The eye of God dwells equally upon the 
lonely dwelling, and on the palace of a king; every 
pang of sympathy, every labour of love, every feeling 
of submission — is known to Him; every privation pa- 
tiently endured, every virtue humbly exercised, He 
can abundantly recompense; the meanest of his ser- 
vants is dear and valuable in His gracious sight, and 
many a name unknown, or persecuted on earth, will 
be found written by His merciful hand, in the book of 
life. 

She always listened to me, dear child, with earnest at- 
tention; my words sank deep into her heart, and with 
God’s assistance had their due effect. Her mind be- 
came gradually fortified against the events of this in- 
constant state; higher prospects arose before her 
mind, and I trust she was, in a measure, prepared for 
future storms. Her reflections were now such, that 
“ to the upright make light arise in darkness,” and 
she endeavoured, with all the fervency of her soul, to 
cast her cares upon her Father in heaven, humbly 
trusting that he would indeed care for her. 

I could not but agree with her, that her prospects 
were very gloomy, and that she would have extreme 
difficulties to encounter. We did not conceal from 
her, the projects of the Gabriellis, and she was in- 
formed that most likely they intended, that she should 
become an actress. We opened her eyes, to the cer- 
tainty of her having to mix in society which would 
be repugnant to every feeling; but still we assured 
her, even through that very ordeal, she might pass 
scathless, if she held fast the principles which had 
been so constantly inculcated in her mind. Assisted 
by the compassionate mercy of the Almighty, she 


THE YOUNG FRIMA DONNA. 


51 


need never feel herself abandoned or unprotected, left 
in this vale of tears, to bear solitary and alone her 
woes. In her dark, as well her brightest hours, God 
would be with her; His influence cheer her in the 
saddest moments; it would accompany her steps, to 
the most distant regions of the earth. Should she be 
separated from all those she loved, exiled to a foreign 
land, even there, “ the hand of God would hold her, 
and his right hand guide her.” 

But, although my lips uttered words of support and 
comfort, my heart sunk with dread when I considered 
her sad fate. On making inquiries into the character 
of Gabrielli, we found that he was a man noted for 
the profligacy of his habits. “ How,” thought I, “ can 
Lady Belmont with her virtuous, and fastidious no- 
tions upon the subject of female propriety, countenance 
for the future, any degree of intimacy between her 
pure, and high born children, and the daughter-in-law 
of such a person as the Italian?” 

The more I reflected upon the subject, the more 
hopeless it appeared; and when the parting moment 
arrived, and we had to relinquish the poor girl into 
the hands of her — I can only term them executioners— 
I felt that it was like hurling her at once into the pit 
of destruction. 


•►H® ©®+w~ 


CHAPTER VIII. 

I shall never forget the thoughtful kindness with 
which the young men of the family, treated our he- 
roine during this period. I had not before seen Rosa- 
lie so attractive as regards personal appearance, for 
during this brief space of sorrow, she seemed to have 
advanced years in womanly beauty. The character 
of her countenance had entirely changed: from the 
laughing child, she had become the sorrowing Madon- 


53 


THE YOUNG FRISIA DONNA. 


na ; her complexion pale and clear — her large eyes 
drooping, and their long dark lashes too often moist 
with tears. I was now certain that my prediction 
would be verified, and that her loveliness would daily 
increase to transcendent beauty. 

Fitz-Ernest and his brothers had free ingress to 
their sister’s dressing-room, and there they even as- 
sisted the sweet Gertrude in trying to sooth the 
stricken girl. 

Fitz-Ernest, who naturally possessed a serious turn 
of disposition, aided me to strengthen her mind, by in- 
culcating ideas of submission, indeed of obedience, for 
we foresaw that her life would be truly one of hard- 
ship — cruelty even we imagined, might be exercised 
towards her by the unprincipled being to whose do- 
minion she would have henceforth to yield; for we 
heard that, in addition to his imperfections, he was of 
a furious and ungovernable temper. 

Lord Henry, the second son, more volatile and 
light hearted than his brother, tried to laugh away 
her grief. 

“ Never mind, Rosy,” he would say, “ after all you 
will be Prima Donna of the Italian Opera, and no bad 
thing let me tell you; and if you go on improving as 
you have done lately what with those lustrous eyes 
and that voice, which you know, even in your worst 
days, we always considered like that of a Siren, you 
will no longer be the Coal Black Rose, but the Bella 
Bellissima Rosa. You will have all the men in Lon- 
don at your feet. You will be half smothered with 
garlands and bouquets that will be showered upon 
you, from every box in the Opera, and your jewel 
case will not be large enough to contain the presents 
which will pour from all quarters. I shall be quite 
proud of you, Rosalie.” 

Rosalie turned away, shuddering from such conso- 
lation; but Fitz-Ernest had the power to sooth her 
wounded feelings. His manners were mild and per- 
suasive; his voice full of pathos and sweetness. Most 
thoughtful were the proofs he gave of his anxiety for 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


53 


the amelioration of her lot, and to provide, in some 
measure, for her future comfort. One of the most 
substantial and valuable, was ensuring to her the at- 
tendance of her faithful Johnson. The poor woman 
arrived one day in great despair; she brought the sad 
tidings to the unhappy girl, that the night before she 
had received her dismissal from Gabrielli. Had she 
only considered her own advantage and comfort, it 
would have been far better for her, to have relinquish- 
ed a service now rendered irksome, and disagreeable 
in the extreme, from the character and habits of the 
master she had acquired; but she knew that to Rosa- 
lie her departure would be most fatal — most injurious; 
she anticipated for this loved child, nothing but priva- 
tions, inconveniences and misery. She felt that she 
had it in her power, to assist and comfort her in a 
hundred different ways; and this devoted creature 
would rather have begged her way to Italy, than have 
quitted her for ever. 

Fit^-Ernest heard the circumstance, and without 
saying'a word of his intentions, hastily left the house; 
he ascertained, from the porter, where Gabrielli was 
to be found, and ordered his cab, soon found himself 
in that part of the town, so ably pourtrayed by an ini- 
mitable author; it is so descriptive, that I cannot for- 
bear inserting it here. 

“ Although a few members of the graver profes- 
sions live about Golden Square, it is not exactly in 
any body’s way, to or from any where. It is one of 
the squares that have been; a quarter of the town that 
has gone down in the world, and taken to letting lod- 
gings. Many of its first and second floors are let 
furnished to single gentlemen, and it takes boarders 
besides. It is a great resort of foreigners. 

“The dark complexioned men who wear large rings, 
and heavy watch-guards, and bushy whiskers, and 
who congregate under the Opera colonnade, and 
about the box-office in the season, between four and 
five in the afternoon, when Mr. Seguin gives away 
the orders— all live in Golden Square, or within a 
5 * 


54 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


street of it. Two or three violins, and a wind instru- 
ment from the Opera band, reside within its precincts. 
Its boarding-houses are musical, and the notes of 
pianos, and harps float in the evening time round the 
head of the mournful statue — the guardian genius of 
a little wilderness of shrubs, in the centre of the square. 
On a summer’s night, windows are thrown open, and 
groups of swarthy moustachio’d men are seen by the 
passer-by, lounging at the casements, and smoking 
fearfully. Sounds of gruff voices practising vocal 
music, invade the evening’s silence, and the fumes of 
choice tobacco scent the air. There snuff and ci- 
gars, and German pipes and flutes, and violins, and 
violoncellos, divine supremacy between them. It is 
the region of song and smoke. Street bands are on 
their mettle in Golden Square, and itinerant glee-sing- 
ers quaver involuntarily, as they raise their voices 
within its boundaries.” 

Fitz-Ernest easily discovered in this quarter, the 
abode of the Gabriellis. He was ushered up to a first 
floor, where he found Madame Gabrielli alone. The 
air of discomfort which pervaded the room, and her 
own altered appearance, were a strange contrast to 
the neat clean little parlour in which he h ad always seen 
her formerly and the decent propriety of dress, which 
she used to wear at F airbourne. Now there was an evi- 
dent attempt at finery— at youthfulness of appearance. 
She was seated on a dirty faded sofa, her head adorn- 
ed with a cap that had already become begrimed, bv 
the dirt and smoke of London; but which was orna- 
mented with tawdry coloured ribands. Her hair had 
evidently been tortured by vain attempts to make it 
fall in ringlets; her person was attired in a silk dress, 
very short, and very scanty, but still it was silk, and 
Madame Gabrielli considered that a great improve- 
ment on her neat, clean Fairbourne cotton dresses; 
her feet had been most certainly equipped, from a 
Teady made shop in Cranbourne Alley; and very smart 
—although very unshapely they looked, in a pair of 
bronze slippers. 

She received the young Lord with some degree of 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


55 


confusion ; she knew not whether the meeting was to 
be hostile or amicable. Lord Fitz-Ernest at once sa- 
tisfied her on that point. With his usual frank, unaf- 
fected manner, he shook hands with her, and imme- 
diately entered upon the subject of his visit, which 
was to intercede, in behalf of Rosalie’s still being al- 
lowed to retain the comfort of Johnson’s attend- 
ance. 

Madame Gabrielli coloured violently, and appeared 
at a loss what to say, but on Fitz-Ernest’s adding, 
“ My dear Madame, it cannot surely be your own 
wish, to part with your excellent and well-tried ser- 
vant he was surprised by seeing her suddenly burst 
into tears, and at the same moment hearing her hus- 
band on the stairs, she rose and hastily went into an 
adjoining apartment. 

It was with no slight degree of disgust, that Fitz- 
Ernest found himself tete-il-tete with this odious foreign- 
er ; and his heart sunk, when he remembered that 
Rosalie, with all her refinement, her ideas and man- 
ners so innocent, and lady-like, would soon be under 
the unlimited control of this low, coarse-minded man. 

It was not long before he discovered that the ex- 
pense attendant upon having the addition of Johnson 
in the journey was the chief objection to her ac- 
companying them. This obstacle, Fitz-Ernest easily 
devined the means of overcoming ; there was a gold- 
en key, which he found most useful in the present in- 
stance, and which immediately opened the heart of 
the avaricious Italian, and this generous noble youth, 
was not sparing in the expensive means that he took 
to obtain his purpose. On promising to pay a large 
sum, Gabrielli agreed to allow Johnson to go with 
them to Italy, and more than one aching heart rejoiced 
at this event. 

Although we could extract but little from this'good 
woman, for she seemed determined to be as silent as. 
possible on the subject, still it was too certain, from 
her grave looks, and the portentous shake of her head, 
when any questions were asked her, that already the 
weak, but unfortunate Madame Gabrielli had disco* 


56 


THE YOUNG PRIM A DONNA. 


vered that there were many more thorns than roses 
in the jbath she had chosen for herself; and that the 
dismissal of her old servant, had been a dreadful 
stroke to her. 

We may easily imagine Rosalie’s gratitude ; al- 
ready had she looked up to Fitz-Ernest as a being so 
exalted — so superior, that she could almost have 
worshipped him; and now when he had told her what 
he had done, at the same time repeating those kind 
expressions which he had before so often uttered, 
“ that she must ever consider him in the light of her 
most anxious friend, and remember, that if ever she 
imagined he had it in his power to befriend and as- 
sist her, she was to promise to apply to him, without 
hesitation or reserve ;” when these words of friend- 
ship flowed from his lips, and Rosalie looked upon a 
countenance which was like a mirror, reflecting the 
most benevolent and beautiful qualities of the heart, 
with the full tide of gratitude overwhelming her every 
feeling she sank before him, she clasped his knees, 
she kissed his hands, whilst tears of mingled joy and 
bitterness flowed in torrents down her cheeks. 

“ I cannot thank you,” she faltered out in broken 
accents, “ I cannot thank you ; — poor indeed would 
be my weak expressions, to convey the depth of my 
gratitude; but, Lord Fitz-Ernest,” she continued with 
the utmost anxiety depicted in her looks, “■ promise 
me one boon, and perhaps my heart may still not 
break ; promise me, that under every circumstance 
that may hereafter befall me, you will not despise me, 
you will not prejudge me; for believe me when I de- 
clare, that abject as I may appear associating with, 
and surrounded by those, whose conduct you must 
condemn, I bear a talisman about me which will 
preserve me from contamination — the idea of having 
once possessed your regard, and the affection of your 
noble family. You may avoid me,” she added sob- 
bing bitterly, “ hut think with pity — not with scorn 
upon poor Rosalie.” 

Dear, excellent young man! little did he imagine, 
that whilst he. was pouring oil and wine into the 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


57 


wounds of her mind, he was in fact unconsciously, 
laying a foundation of wretchedness to the young 
girl, which did indeed prove incurable — and most 
fatal. 

There are dormant fires lurking in the depths of the 
female bosom which, when once enkindled, become 
impetuous, and are sometimes desolating in their ef- 
fects ! , 

It is of no use dwelling upon this melancholy pe- 
riod — the deep sorrow of the young ones, and the 
graver regrets of her more experienced friends, for to 
Lady Belmont with her refined and strict ideas, Ro- 
salie appeared lost to them for ever. 

The day arrived but top soon, and the poor girl was 
to be lorn from those she loved so well. 

I believe nothing would have supported her, through 
the last parting, but the assurance, I whispered into 
her ear, that it would not be long before she saw me; 
that I would follow her to Italy. At this last hope, a 
gleam of comfort did, for a moment, beam from those 
sad eyes, and she faintly said, “ Then I feel that I 
shall not be utterly abandoned.” 

The day fixed for her departure was now come, 
and the sorrowing child was given into the hands of 
her mother. 

Can 1 ever forget the anguish of her countenance 
as she clung to me, and fixed her mournful eyes upon 
me when I was about to take my leave! This might 
be said to be the first commencement of her real 
sorrows, and heavy and foreboding were the thoughts 
that filled my heart, when at last I bade her a sor- 
rowful farewell. 




CHAPTER IX. 

Various circumstances, and a long and painful ill- 
ness, prevented and deferred my proposed, and much 
desired visit to Italy. We had heard occasionally 
from Rosalie, but her letters were little satisfactory, 


58 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


for they were evidently written with constraint, 
which we could understand, as they were most cer- 
tainly submitted to the inspection of those with whom" 
she lived. At length I was enabled to leave England, 
and at once bent my steps towards Naples, in which 
city Rosalie resided. The date of her last letter in- 
dicated where she was to be found, and the morning 
after my arrival, I set out, my heart beating with that 
degree of agitation, and nervous pleasure, which one 
experiences in the expectation of meeting those we 
love, after a long and painful absence. 

The street was in an old part of the town, gloomy, 
when contrasted with the gay appearance of the mo- 
dern city, which is formed upon a plan so splendid 
and elegant. The house to which I was directed, as 
the abode of Gabrielli, was built in the heavy imper- 
fect style of architecture, invented and adopted during 
the middle ages, which gave a sombre appearance to 
the habitation. 

I was preparing to ascend the staircase, which led 
to the apartments occupied by the family, when my 
passage was impeded by a young man, who entered 
immediately after me, and who, in his extreme impa- 
tience, little heeded me as he flew past, full of youth- 
ful activity and eagerness. I was peculiarly struck 
even by the transitory glance I caught of his counte- 
nance. I could easily perceive that he was Italian by 
birth, from his clear olive 'complexion, glowing, how- 
ever, with the hues of health, his bright dark eyes, and 
black hair wreathed in short curls round his open 
fearless brow; bold and light was his step, and I could 
not help smiling, when I contrasted it with the mea- 
sured stiffened gait with which I slowly followed him; 
and then I almost sighed to think that my days of 
youth and strength were over. 

The young man, who appeared to be about twenty 
years of age, carried in one hand an enormous bou- 
quet; in the other an open basket, through which I 
saw some magnificent purple grapes. A kind of in- 
stinct told me they were for Rosalie, therefore I fol- 
lowed his impetuous steps, as closely as I could. He 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


59 


passed along a gallery, and at length reached a door 
at which he paused, and knocked. 

“ Enlrate,'” said a soft musical voice, which at once 
I knew to be that of Rosalie. Immediately the door 
was opened by the youth, who, without closing it 
again, walked rapidly into the apartment. I did not 
advance for I could stand concealed by a projecting 
part of the wall, and, at the same time command a 
view of the interior of the room. 

It was a vast apartment, furnished (or rather un- 
furnished,) in the true Italian style. The table, at 
which indeed my sweet Rosalie was seated, and a few 
chairs, were the greater part of its contents, except- 
ing a marble slab or two, upon which were arranged 
the choicest flowers. I must not, however, omit a 
pianoforte, a quantity of music, and several bird-cages 
suspended at the windows. 

Rosalie, as I have already said, was seated before 
the table, busily employed in copying music. What 
a change had eighteen months wrought in her appear- 
ance ! From the child, she had matured into the 
loveliest of women. She was pale and very thin, but the 
outline of her figure was beautiful in the extreme. She 
wore a white dress with long loose sleeves; her hair 
was simply arranged, in quite a classic manner, on 
her small and well formed head; and her pleased 
smile, and the glow of animation which spread over 
her features, as she raised her eyes on the entrance 
of the youth, rendered her, at that moment, tran- 
scendency lovely. 

“Oh Arturo,” she exclaimed, in the purest Italian 
as he approached her, “ what — more beautiful flowers! 
Those you brought me last are not yet dead. I have 
just been putting fresh water to them; see how bright 
and beautiful they look; and those splendid grapes,” 
she added, as he drew his treasure from the basket, 
“ kind, good Arturo, how you spoil me — what should, 
I do without you!” 

“ Ah signorina mia” replied the young man, his 
eyes glistening with pleasure, “ how amiable it is of 
you to thank me ; it is I who am the obliged ; your 


60 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


goodness in accepting what I so humbly bring, makes 
me, indeed, the debtor. And see, sweet Rosalie,” he 
continued, producing from the basket some stores of 
green food for the birds, “ I have not forgotten what 
will make your pretty pets very happy to-day. I 
have taken a holiday this afternoon, and am come 
here to spend it with you. Will you allow me to re- 
main, bellissirna signorina?” 

Rosalie smiled, and then sighed. 

“ I doubt whether Signor Gabrielli would be satis- 
fied, that I should be so long idle ; I have a great deal 
of music to copy, but you will assist me, and you 
shall afterwards sing with me, Arturo, and then my 
tasks will pass lightly and profitably away.” 

Arturo was about to answer, and a delighted ac- 
quiescence was upon his lips, when hearing the sounds 
of footsteps approaching, I thought it best to emerge 
from my place of concealment; in another moment, 
I had entered the apartment and was standing before 
the astonished girl. With a shriek of surprise, and 
joy she flew into my arms, and whilst I pressed her to 
my bosom, I felt the tears of warm affection flow from 
my eyes. 

It is impossible to describe the joy we both felt in 
this reunion. Rosalie appeared as if restored to new 
life. She made me sit down then placed herself on 
her knees before me, with my hands closely pressed 
within hers, and her tearful eyes fixed earnestly upon 
my countenance, she remained, some time in silence ; 
her heart was too full for words — she could only look 
her joy. 

She was roused from this state of mute happiness, 
by seeing Arturo suddenly take up his hat, and rush 
towards the door, through which he was going to 
make a sudden exit, when she called to him : 

“ Arturo, come here; before you go — and I will not 
detain you now — let me present you to Mr. Leslie. 
How often have you heard me talk of this dearest and 
best of friends.” 

x The countenance of the young man, which had be- 
fore assumed rather a disappointed and sombre ap- 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


61 


pearance, now beamed again, and he approached me 
with an air at once courteous and kind. “ Oh ! my 
dear Sir,” she continued, “ you must love Arturo for 
my sake; he has truly been to me the best of brothers; 
if you did but know all his affectionate attention — his 
unremitting exertions for my comfort and happiness ! 
without him, 1 feel I hardly could have drawn on my 
weary existence.” 

The young, Italian’s cheeks glowed, and his eyes 
glistened as Rosalie uttered these words ; he was vehe- 
ment in the warmth of his expressions, but she inter- 
rupted him by saying : “ Now, Arturo, you must go, 
for I have much — oh how much to say to this my 
friend — my father. Come again in two hours, if you 
can; but at present I have neither eyes nor ears for 
any one else.” 

The youth instantly obeyed her; but with steps less 
light and elastic, than those with which he had en* 
tered the apartment: and as 1 gazed after his youth' 
ful, and beauteous form as he slowly departed, the 
thought darted quickly through my mind, that there 
was a tale of love to be told in that quarter. 

And now that we were alone, Rosalie seemed to 
feel, that she must again renew her tender caresses. 
Her warm heart appeared to expand with delight, at 
the sight of her old and devoted friend. My silver hair, 
and furrowed brow, were looked upon by her with 
more tenderness — more apparent admiration, than she 
had bestowed on the handsome countenance of Arturo. 
How truly lovely she looked, sweet girl ! I sighed, when 
I saw all my predictions as to her beauty, so fully 
^verified. 

By degrees, when the first emotions of her joy had 
partly subsided, I drew from her the particulars of her 
life since our separation. 

Poor child, much indeed, had she suffered ! Gabrielli, 
she confessed to me — but she did so with shrinking, 
fear, and hesitation — was possessed of a most violent 
and tyrannical temper. Her unfortunate mother was 
one of the most wretched of women ; as for herself — 
and her face grew pale, and she shuddered as she 

VOL. i. — 6 


62 


THE Y0UN6 PRIM A DONNA. 


commenced the subject — she said she certainly did 
undergo much fatigue, and was harassed to the very 
utmost pitch, by the Italian’s absorbing anxiety, that 
she should improve in music ; almost every hour in 
the day was devoted to the study of it. But that was 
the least part of her troubles, her fondness for the 
science rendered it supportable; it was living under 
the same roof with such a man — witnessing his daily 
ill-treatment of her unhappy mother — that was most 
distressing to her feelings; and then the having to as- 
sociate with his friends ! 

“Toward me,” she continued, “ his conduct is at 
present less brutal. I have taught him,” and her eyes 
kindled as she spoke, and a flash of indignant fire shot 
from them, “ in a degree to fear me. Oh dear Mr. 
Leslie,” she exclaimed bursting into tears, “ if you 
knew what I have suffered — what 1 have endured; 
that monster has exposed me to insult, which I would 
not shock your kind heart by describing. In order to 
teach me, (he said) the science of acting, he brought 
into the house a man of the vilest and most vicious 
habits. I was left alone with him for hours, exposed 
to all the libertinism of his manners ; but,” she con- 
tinued as rising from her seat, she paced the apart- 
ment with agitated steps, whilst her countenance as- 
sumed a look of fierceness, quite unnatural to her, “ I 
have dared him to repeat the outrage; young and 
feeble as I am, I conquered — but oh ! in what man- 
ner! what torture I endured throughout the trial! I 
determined not to open my lips, not to sing a single 
note, until I obtained Gabrielli’s solemn promise, that 
I should never see that man again, or be exposed 
to similar insults ; that I was to take no lesson of any 
description, but in the presence of Johnson who, I 
knew, alone had the strength of mind to guard me 
properly from insolence; but before I could obtain 
this promise, what weeks of persecution and cruelty 
had I to undergo ! I was threatened — confined. He 
even endeavoured to starve me into obedience ; but he 
at length discovered that I possessed a spirit unbend- 
ing as his own, how little careful I was of preserving 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


63 


my wretched life, how slightly I valued its con- 
tinuance ! Death would indeed have been a welcome 
release. Oh ! how I prayed for it. My health gave 
way, but my resolution was firm — immoveable. I 
cannot tell you all my reasons, for what may appear 
to you excessive obstinacy. I would not torture your 
kind nature by detailing them, they are too horrid — 
too dreadful,” and she placed her hands upon her eyes, 
as if to shut out some painful image. 

I was so much shocked, that 1 could not interrupt 
her by making any comment; and, conquering her 
emotion, she continued her sad story. 

“Agony of mind — deprivation ofevery kind, brought 
me at last to the brink of the grave. Then did my 
persecutor become really frightened ; he thought he 
was about to lose a source of future wealth, which he 
fancies is vested in the unfortunate girl before you. In 
dismay, he promised any thing, every thing to tran- 
quillize my mind; but still though weakened in body, 
to the utmost pitch of feebleness, I was firm as a rock 
in determination. 1 made him write what I dictated, 
and obtained from him a solemn assurance, which has 
hitherto benefited me much. I have now the comfort 
of this apartment, which I can call my own. I con- 
tinue to study hard, certainly ; I go to my bed every 
night fatigued and exhausted, but still it is peace — hap- 
piness — compared to what I have endured. 1 have 
had some gleams of comfort throughout all this dis- 
tress. I have been supported in my duty by all that I 
learnt from you, dearest Sir: strength was vouchsafed 
to me, by clinging to that trust, which indeed, in my 
hour of need, did not fail me. 

“ And what support and consolation was the atten- 
dance of Johnson ! it has been indeed an inestimable 
blessing, and I prize it doubly, from the remembrance 
whence it sprung. Signor Gabrielli would fain have 
deprived me of this my only consolation, but for the 
continued generosity of dear, dear Lord Fitz-Ernest, 
who, by paying largely for her board, bribes the avari- 
cious man to allow her to remain; nothing else would 
have tempted him, for in his heart he detests her — al- 


64 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


most fears her; for she is bold and dauntless, where 
either the welfare of my mother or myself is concern- 
ed; she braves his anger and asserts our rights; we 
could not have supported our fate, if it had not been 
for her unfailing exertions for our comfort.” 

“And who,” I asked after a pause of some mo- 
moments, “ is the youth who has just left the room?” 

“Oh! dear Arturo,” she replied, her countenance 
relaxing into a gentle smile, “ the best and kindest 
friend 1 have in Italy, who has been truly a brother 
to me here. Although quick and violent in his feel- 
ings, like all Italians, notwithstanding his impetuosity, 
he possesses good sense, and'the truest of hearts. My 
acquaintance with him commenced at the seminario, 
which I have attended for the purpose of study; his 
profession also is to be that of music. His voice is a 
splendid tenor, and as practising with him is very be- 
neficial to me, his intimacy has been tolerated, and his 
society has been my greatest solace. I cannot enu- 
merate all the acts of kindness and attention which he 
seems never weary of showering upon me. If I 
could only make him a little less empressi — a little 
calmer, quieter in his deportment, our intercourse 
would be delightful; but he sometimes overpowers me 
by the warmth and energy of his desire to contribute to 
my comfort and happiness ; but Arturo, with all his 
little faults, is very dear to me.” 

1 looked at Rosalie when she said this, with some 
degree of curiosity; but she was so composed and col- 
lected, so completely free from theembarrassment which 
ever attends any feelings, belonging or proximating to 
the passion of love, that at once I felt certain, that al- 
though poor Arturo might experience towards her 
sentiments of the warmest nature, hers were those of 
the calmest and most sisterly affection. 

Whilst we were thus speaking, a gentle knock was 
heard at the door, and the subject of our conversation 
again entered. He came in with a degree of timidity, 
uncertain whether his presence was desired or not ; 
he was most_cordially welcomed by us both. I could 
speak Italian fluently, therefore was able to converse 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


05 


with him, and oh ! how the eloquent blood rushed to 
his cheeks, and what joy sparkled in his eyes, when I 
told him that he must look upon me also as his friend; 
for all that Rosalie had related to me of his goodness 
towards her had already created for him, a warm 
place in my heart. 

Certainly, I never saw a more splendid specimen of 
youthful, though manly beauty; and when I gazed on 
him, I could almost have accused my dear favourite 
of coldness, not to be influenced by the ardour which 
flashed from every glance of his expressive counte- 
nance. Little did I imagine at that moment what 
was passing in her heart! how completely every ave- 
nue of love for another was obstructed by one all 
engrossing feeling, one which strengthened daily — 
hourly — which was nurtured and cherished by her, as 
the only stay by which she clung to existence. “ Man 
is the creature of impulse, of ambition; love is the em- 
bellishment of his early life, or a song piped in the in- 
terval of the acts, but a woman’s whole life is a histo- 
ry of the affections; the heart is her world — it is there 
her ambition strives for empire — it is there her avarice 
seeks for hidden treasures; she sends forth her sym- 
pathies on a venture, she embarks her whole soul ia 
the traffic of affection, and if shipwrecked, her case is 
hopeless — for it is the bankruptcy of the heart.” 

How delightful was this evening which we passed 
together. Gabrielli and his wife, had gone on an ex- 
pedition of amusement, and were not to return until 
the following day. Poor Madame Gabrielli was now 
and then included in these trips, but Rosalie never ac- 
companied therm There were several reasons for 
keeping her secluded, besides her own great distaste 
to the idea of mixing with the associates of the Italian; 
In the subsequent knowledge I acquired of the position 
and views of the man, I soon discovered the motives 
which directed him, in many parts of his conduct to- 
wards Rosalie. I opened his heart, 'and gained 
his confidence in some degree, by the only means 
which I found would ensure me free access to my dear 
young friend. I made him presents, which a,t once 


66 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


secured me from his impertinence, and converted him 
into my humble servant. 

He told me that Rosalie’s improvement in singing 
was wonderful beyond measure; that her voice sur- 
passed any he had before heard ; her acting also was 
superb ; it appeared as if she w'ere born for the stage, 
to surprise the world by her dramatic powers ! 

“ Most fortunate it was,” he added, “ that I disco- 
vered the gem, which would otherwise have been lost 
— buried in obscurity. She is a star too shining — too 
precious to be brought forward on any inferior stage; 
she must, from the commencement of her career, be 
first rate, she must be duly appreciated.” Therefore 
the London Opera was fixed upon, as most worthy to, 
be the theatre at which she should make her debut. 

“ Her beauty,” he alsa said, “ will create a most 
vivid sensation ; M for, indeed, he declared that he was 
already obliged to keep her en retraile , as she attract- 
ed the utmost attention, whenever she was seen by 
strangers; “ in short,” added the wily Italian, endea- 
vouring to blind me by assuming an appearance of ex- 
cessive regard for propriety, and anxiety for Rosalie, 
“I do all in my power to preserve the charming girl from 
any thing that can injure the innate purity and fresh- 
ness of her mind; and I shall have pride and satisfac- 
tion in feeling, that even in a profession so open to ca- 
lumny and censure, there will be at least one can- 
tatrice sans reproche .” 

Vile wretch ! I longed for lightning to flash from 
my eyes, to blast him for his iniquitous hypocrisy. 1, 
who knew' all his base feelings, and the conduct he 
had at first pursued towards the poor girl! 

His only motive for thus secluding her, arose from 
selfishness ; — the desire that her beauty and talent 
might burst like an unexpected meteor upon the pub- 
lic; for I heard from Johnson what had indeed ap- 
palled me, had shaken my very inmost soul with hor- 
ror; and it required much self-command, I may add 
deception, which only my affection for Rosalie could 
have made me assume, to maintain a semblance of 
peace towards the base Gabrielli. Johnson, with tears 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


67 


of sorrow and disgust, gave me a touching history of 
all that my poor cherished child had endured ; person- 
al privations and discomfort, were but light matters 
in the scale, compared with the other miseries she had 
encountered. 

It appeared, that in order to bring down her mind 
in some degree to a level with those with whom she 
would have to associate — in short, with his own vul- 
gar and depraved tastes and habits, his plan evidently 
was, at first, to vitiate her feelings — to accustom her 
to the society and manners of licentious actors and ac- 
tresses. He wished her to look upon vice and immo- 
desty with a hardened eye — to feel pleasure in the 
light frivolous society of those with whom he lived on 
terms of intimacy. He cared not what she did, so 
that she was secured to him as a source of wealth; 
could he once accomplish this, his task would be much 
less difficult — he would then be able to mould her to his 
every wish. 

To execute this desired end, the wretch brought 
intp the house a friend, and accomplice ; a man whose 
talent and science in the art of music and acting ren- 
dered him well able to aid in the instruction of Rosalie. 
He was worthy of being the tool and confidant of Ga- 
brielli. The sweet, innocent girl was insulted by this 
villain, and none of her complaints were heeded by 
the person who ought to have been her protector. 
But she at last prevailed; her firmness terrified Ga- 
brielli iato- submission to her will ; and this weak, de- 
licate girl, with no other weapon but her virtue and 
innocence, had the power of subduing even the auda- 
city of these licentious men. 

How proud I felt of my pupil — the child of my 
adoption and love ! She had, indeed, been strength- 
ened by the armour of that faith which it had been my 
task to inculcate; sustained by its powerful influence, 
the poor child sunk not under the pressure of persecu- 
tion. When the clouds gathered, and the murmur of 
the storm was heard, she found refuge in th,at trust, 
which is described as a hiding-place from the wind,, 
and a covert from the tempest. 


68 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


CHAPTER X. 

The aspect of Rosalie’s existence had, for a brief 
space, brightened. I represented to Gabrielli how ne- 
cessary relaxation was to the restoration of her health, 
and so that she still continued her studies, he was wil- 
ling that, under my escort, she should make some ex- 
cursions in the neighbourhood. We also went toge- 
ther almost every night to the Opera of San Carlos. 
A box was appropriated to her use ; for, as Gabrielli 
was a principal performer, he had it in his power to 
command that indulgence at an easy rate, and he 
forced her to avail herself of the privilege, it being 
professionally advantageous to her. Naples is still the 
great mart of the musical genius of Italy; and its grand 
national opera of San Carlos, taken in all its combina- 
tion of architectural and ornamental beauty, its adap- 
tation to sound, principal singers, fine choruses, and 
scenic illusions, is certainly superier to all other thea- 
tres in the world. 

Music was a real source of delight to Rosalie; and 
had it not been forced upon her in so unpleasant a 
manner, would almost have amounted to a passion. 

We took some delightful expeditions. Every thing 
was new and charming to Rosalie, who had been so 
strictly secluded. Arturo was ever our companion 
in these rambles, and daily I became more attached 
to this most interesting youth. I pereeived, with sor- 
row, with what intensity his ardent heart doated upon 
Rosalie. It did indeed grieve me, for I foresaw trou- 
ble to one who had created an interest in my affec- 
tions. As for Rosalie, I felt that my love for her was 
my destiny— a chain that had wound itself round my 
heart; and I was certain, that although I pressed it to 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


69 


niy bosom with affection, it was drawing upon me 
sorrow — both future and present. 

Our excursions were truly delightful. Sometimes 
we commenced them at so early an hour, that the 
stars were still burning brightly in the clear blue hea- 
vens, but they soon, though gradually, to use the words 
of a distinguished writer, “ paled their ineffectual fires; 
a sort of sapphire light fell like a shower on the sum- 
mits of the mountains, and ushered in the rising sun, 
which ascended most gloriously, most awfully above 
that mighty elevation, where the sublimest spectacle 
of nature is most sublime; many a point of bleached 
rock sparkled with reflected rays, and hung above the 
rolling vapours of the valleys beneath, like beacon 
lights on the ocean’s verge, and many a changeful 
meteoric illusion cheated and charmed the eye, until 
the first burst of day dispelled every atmospheric mist 
and cloud, and left distinctly traced, and brightly gilt, 
the sarrounding beauties of the scene.” 

These expeditions often led us to Puzzuoli, Baia, or 
the woody cliffs of Pausilippo; and as, on our return, 
we glided along the moonlit bay, the melody of Ita- 
lian strains seemed to give enchantment to the scene- 
ry of its shore. At this cool hour, the voices of the 
vine dressers were frequently heard in trio, as they 
reposed after the labour of the day, on some pleasant 
promontory, under the shade of poplars ; or the brisk 
music of the dance, from fishermen on the margin of 
the waves below. The boatmen rested on their oars, 
while we listened to voices modulated by sensibility 
to finer eloquence than it is in the power of art alone 
to display; and at others, while we observed the airy, 
natural grace, which distinguishes the dance of the 
fishermen and peasants of Naples. Frequently as we 
glided round a promontory, whose shaggy mosses im- 
pended far over the sea, such magic scenes of beauty 
unfolded themselves, adorned by these dancing groups 
on the bay beyond, as no pencil could do justice to. 
The deep clear waters reflected every image of the 
landscape; the cliffs branching into wild forms crown- 
ed with groves, whose rough foliage often spread down 


70 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


their steeps in picturesque luxuriance; the ruined villa 
on some bold point, peeping through the trees; pea- 
sants’ cabins hanging over the precipices, and the 
dancing figures on the strand — all touched with the 
silvery tint and soft shadows of moonlight. On the 
other hand, the sea trembling with a long line of radi- 
ance, and showing in the clear distance, the sails of 
vessels stealing in every direction along its surface, 
presented objects as interesting as the landscape was 
beautiful. 

I have sometimes blamed myself for having exposed 
poor Arturo to such a combination of enchantments; 
under such a sky, with scenes of beauty so seductive 
around him, his mind must have been more than ever 
rendered liable to love. All nature seemed to con- 
spire against him, to fan the flame which already 
burnt far too fiercely in his bosom. 

It was surprising to see how much Rosalie’s health 
improved during this period, and the consequent ef- 
fect it had upon her beauty. Her complexion, though 
always pale, lost the sickly tinge which before had 
dimmed the lustre of her charms ; her eyes assumed 
almost their usual expression. On my first arrival, I 
was startled by the degree of fierceness and wildness 
with which they were occasionally lighted up; and on 
speaking upon this subject to the faithful Johnson, she 
shocked me by the account she gave of the variable 
state of the spirits, and even of the temper of Rosalie. 

“ Indeed, sir,” she said, “ had that wicked man not 
ceased, in some measure, to persecute the poor child, 
I do not hesitate to say that I feel convinced that her 
mind would have given way. Many a night and day 
have I watched her without daring to leave her side, 
for certainly there was something, as you remark, in 
the appearance of her eyes, which made me tremble; 
and after that dreadful time, when she received such 
gross insults from the wretch Rinaldo, 1 was obliged 
to apply leeches to her temples to produce conscious- 
ness, so completely were her senses failing her.” 

This account made me very anxious, and I redou- 
bled my efforts to amuse her mind, and in every way 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


71 


to ameliorate her condition. I discovered that it was 
GabriellPs intention that the following spring should 
be the period for her to make her debut upon the 
stage. Poor girl ! when I considered the excitement 
such an event would occasion, I felt how completely, 
notwithstanding her aversion from the task, she would 
enter into every character s!.e had to personify. 
From the specimens I had witnessed of her acting, I 
could easily perceive that she would be a complete en- 
thusiast in the art, and no doubt had she not been edu- 
cated with such different and refined ideas, the metier 
itself might not have been distasteful to her. 

Whilst rehearsing scenes from some of the most 
splendid operas, she was like one inspired. Her mag- 
nificent voice — the extraordinary animation of her 
countenance and gestures — the dignity and grace of 
every movement, rendered, her indeed unrivalled. 
She was then fearfully beautiful; but there was some- 
thing in the impression it made upon my feelings, un- 
earthly, unnatural, and although I could not but ad- 
mire her acting and feel almost electrified by its bril- 
liancy, still it always filled me with dread — with 
dismal forebodings. Could her mind bear such violent 
excitement? Such energy must prey upon itself — that 
degree of feverish vitality must consume, even whilst 
it brightened. 

It was truly a musical treat to listen to the duets, 
she sang with Arturo. His voice was a splendid 
tenor, and the fire and intensity of his feelings made 
him do ample justice to the beautiful music they sung. 
He was an orphan, and had been educated by an un- 
cle. His career was to be that of the stage, but his 
relative had no farther ambition for him than the Ita- 
lian theatres. I, however, soon discovered that his 
ardent desire pointed to the same mark, from whence 
Rosalie was expected to derive such fame; to follow 
her footsteps — to watch over her with the anxious eye 
of deep rooted attachment — to be her friend, ay ! — 
even her lover, seemed to be the hope which mingled 
in his every plan for the present and the future. 

I believe I have naturally a tinge of romance in 


72 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


my composition, and I must own that the warm and 
generous — the impetuous disposition of this young man 
— the extraordinary beauty of his person, and the 
strong indications he gave of a kind and excellent 
heart, enlisted me completely in his cause; and I won- 
dered that Rosalie did not return his love. I was 
sometimes almost vexed with her, for the coolness 
with which she often treated him, and I sympathized 
truly in all he felt, in consequence of the manner in 
which she used to endeavour to damp the warmth of 
his affection ; but she acted honourably. She had no 
heart to give; and although she really loved him, with 
the sweet, though placid feelings of a sister, and was 
touched beyond measure by all his tender cares; still 
I saw that she wished to destroy, at once, any hope 
that might arise in his mind, that her sentiments would 
ever resemble those which so tumultuously agitated 
the bosom of Arturo. 

My visit to Naples was shorter than I had intended 
it should be; indeed, I do not know' how I could ever 
have torn myself away from the only object on earth 
to whom I felt my presence so essential, for comfort 
and happiness, had I not been recalled to England by 
the urgent entreaties of a relative, my return being 
required for the arrangement of some affairs of the 
utmost importance to his future welfare. During 
my stay near Rosalie, I remarked with surprise, how 
very seldom she made the Belmont family the topic 
of her conversation; indeed, after she had satisfied her 
anxiety respecting their welfare, and received from 
me, upon my first arrival, a most minute and separate 
account of each individual, composing that beloved 
circle, she always avoided the subject. 

I once expressed this surprise to her, and her an- 
swer affected me much. With the deepest sadness in 
her voice she said, “ Dear Sir, it is upon principle, 
that I check both my words, and even thoughts upon 
that subject, which is to me the dearest I can ever 
have on earth. I endeavour to turn from it, and the 
effort wrings my very inmost soul ; but I strive, by 
degrees, to wean my mind from the idea— the hope 


THE YOUNG PRIM A DONNA. 


73 


of ever again meeting my almost idolized friends, as I 
have done. Their kindness towards me, I am con- 
vinced, will never lessen ; their feeling of interest will 
follow me to my grave ; of this lam thoroughly con- 
vinced, and the thought is sweet and soothing conso- 
lation ; but the more 1 see of this profession, the more 
I know of the people with w'hom I must ever asso- 
ciate, I feel how impossible it would be, how incon- 
sistent with the dignity, and purity of those noble 
young ladies, to hold any thing like intimacy, with one 
who has been contaminated, by living in an atmos- 
phere so foul — so tainted, as that in which I have for 
some time dragged on my weary existence. I feel 
that I am degraded — sunk; I move about wiih down- 
cast eyes and hesitating steps ; I feel already the fin- 
ger of scorn pointing at me. You know, my dear Mr. 
Leslie,” she continued, with a kind of wild unnatural 
laugh, “ actresses in this country are denied even the 
rights of sepulture ; does not that convince you, how 
completely out of the pale of decent society, they must 
be considered ? scarcely ranked as Christians, they live 
despised and die unheeded — unprayed for. No,” she 
exclaimed, as she stood before me, her hands clasped, 
and that expression glistening in her eyes, which it 
always alarmed me to behold, “ poor Rosalie has 
taken her final leave of happiness — of hope. I may 
indeed say with the wretched Medea, piu speme non 
mi resta,” and at that moment how beautiful was her 
attitude, but what a countenance of wretchedness did 
she exhibit ! 

“ You little know the state of my heart, the torture 
— the agony I endure; but I have one ray of comfort,” 
she continued, clasping her hands with a look of sor- 
row, I can never forget; “ I am convinced that it will 
not last very long; the source from whence I derived 
happiness is all dried up; but recollect Mr. Leslie,” 
she added in a hurried manner, and laying her hand 
upon my arm, and looking wildly and imploringly in 
my face, “ I shall be in England, I fervently pray, 
when I die ; dear generous England 1 — there, in that 
blessed land, the refuge for the unhappy, they do not 

VOL. i. — 7 


74 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


refuse a narrow grave, a funeral service to the hum- 
ble broken-hearted actress; remember your promise, 
Mr. Leslie, recollect the old yew tree — the shaded 
corner in the church-yard at Fairbourne; you must 
promise me not to forget it, oh ! promise, promise,” 
she continued, becoming violently hysterical ; and in- 
deed I had to promise — to sooth — to endeavour for 
many hours to calm her, before she could in anyway 
control the overpowering agitation and excitement of 
her spirits. 

Poor girl ! in her almost frenzied manner, how 
truly did she personify some of the heroines, whose 
characters she studied to represent. I had seen her 
rehearse the part of Nina Pazza, and, gracious hea- 
vens ! with what thrilling effect ! How completely 
could she portray, and identify herself with the sem- 
blance of madness ! I, indeed, trembled for her mind. 
Could she not be saved from a continuance of her pre- 
sent life? Jf not, I plainly saw she would be lost for 
ever ; but what was to be done? what course to be 
pursued ? 

The Italian evidently regarded me with a suspi- 
cious eye, and I was certain that he longed for my 
departure; but still I was determined to maintain my 
ground. I plied him with presents ; anticipated his 
wants — his wishes, almost exhausted my slender 
finances, by temporizing with this wretch; but impe- 
rative duty at length called me away, and the poor 
child was again left in the power of this monster. 


CHAPTER XI. 

It was at Brighton, in the month of November. 
The Court had taken up its abode at the Pavilion. 
The town was one scene of gaiety and bustle : crowds 
of well-dressed people were thronging the promenades, 
and the pure air and bright atmosphere seemed to 
have imparted life and vivacity to all. The presence 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


75 


of royalty — the expectation of seeing the cortege from 
the palace pass to and fro, gave an additional inte- 
rest to the busy, lively scene, as each individual re- 
ceived the passing, kind, and condescending notice of 
a sovereign, whose memory must ever recur to his 
people with feelings of tender as well as of grateful 
recollection. He was, indeed, the father of his peo- 
ple, for, in the almost affectionate interest he felt in 
them all, there was a sort of parental kindness, which 
sunk deep into their hearts, and which they never can 
forget. 

It was one of those lovely mornings that occur fre- 
quently at this favoured spot, even in winter; the air 
was calm, and the sun so powerful, that, although pro- 
bably, in the country there might have been a hard 
frost — here, the air was brisk, but not cold. The sea 
was qiyet as a lake — all nature smiled — autumn ap- 
peared as if it were giving its parting gala. 

Two young men were sauntering listlessly upon the 
esplanade ; they were both handsome, and aristocracy 
had marked itself upon their brows. After walking 
in silence for some moments, the taller, and, perhaps, 
strictly speaking, the handsomer of the two, and whom 
we will designate as Sir Francis Somerville, turned 
to his companion, and. said, evidently wishing to get 
rid of him — 

“ My good fellow, if you are waiting for me, per- 
chance you may grow weary of the task, for it is my*" 
intention to remain here at least an hour.” 

“ Tell me your inducement, and, perhaps, I may be 
inclined to do the same; but, I suppose, it is the usual 
reason, les beaux yeux of some fair maid, wife, or 
widow.” 

“ It is, indeed,” exclaimed Sir Francis, warming 
into confidence, as he entered upon the subject. “ I 
am expecting again to see the most beautiful creature 
my eyes ever looked upon.” 

“ Then,” replied the other, “ I too am fixed as a 
rock ;” and he forthwith took possession of a seat ; Sir 
Francis was about to place himself by his side, when 
he appeared to be suddenly transfixed by the appear- 


76 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


ance of some object, and his friend saw him turn ex- 
tremely red, and, following the direction of his gaze, 
perceived approaching the figure of a young girl. 
She was rather tall than otherwise, and her figure was 
concealed by a large cloak ; her bonnet almost en- 
tirely shaded her countenance, and an envious veil 
completed the concealment. She carried in her hand 
a roll of music. She had nearly reached the spot 
where the two young men were sitting, when a child 
who was playing with a hoop ran violently against 
her, and, with the movement, the parcel dropped from 
her hands ; in another instant, the slight string that 
bound it giving way by the fall, the music was scattered 
about, and the wind assisted in dispersing it in all di- 
rections. 

The two young men gladly availed themselves of the 
opportunity of assisting the fair sufferer afforded by 
this confusion, and it was not without, some difficulty 
that they contrived to collect all the various pages 
that were flying about, to the amusement of the 
passers by, 

During this process, the face of the young girl had 
been disclosed, and a more lovely one was seldom or 
never seen. She appeared to be not more than 
eighteen years of age— such large dark eyes! — a com- 
plexion pale but clear, and smooth as marble; — and 
how is it possible to describe the beauteous form of 
those rosy lips, which when they smiled, revealed 
teeth of the most dazzling whiteness! Her hair was 
jet black, plainly braided upon her open forehead, and 
whenj-on receiving the music from Sir Francis, she 
drew off' her glove, in order to fasten with the string 
the truant leaves, the young men looked with delight 
upon the small white hands, so delicate and so lady- 
like. 

But now all was accomplished ; — the music was 
rolled up and more firmly secured, and the young girl, 
with a graceful courtesy of thanks, was about to depart, 
when suddenly she turned her large beaming eyes upon 
the companion of Sir Francis, who was standing be- 
fore her, his eyes riveted with admiration and scrutiny 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


77 


c^°ji 1Gr C0l l ntenance ' She looked for a moment 
fixedly upon him, and then, uttering a faint low scream, 
would have sunk to the ground, had not her arm been 
caught by a woman who had, unperceived by the 
others joined the group. She, in an instant, roused 
herself, and, without again raising her eyes, hastily took 
the arm of this person, and, walking on as fast as her 
trembling limbs would enable her to do, reached a 
“ fly,” and was soon whirled out of the sight of the two 
friends, who remained for some minutes motionless and 
silent, from the surprise occasioned by the strangeness 
and rapidity of this adventure. 

“By Jove! this is devilish odd!” exclaimed Sir 
Francis Somerville. “ What made her scream, and 
almost faint? — she was all smiles and blushes but one 
moment before ! I verily believe it was something she 
saw in you that frightened her! What could it be?” 
he again exclaimed, looking at his companion from 
head to foot ; “ there’s nothing so wondrous frightful 
about you, or so captivating either, forsooth! You 
are a good-looking fellow, but upon my word,” added 
the self-satisfied Sir Francis* twisting his mustachios, 
and casting his eyes with complacency on his own 
well-proportioned limbs, “if she were inclined to fall 
in love at first sight, I do not see why she might not 
have chosen me, quite as soon as your Lordship!” 

The young Lord laughed at his friend’s complimen- 
tary speech, but, as they walked back to the Pavilion, 
for they were both at that time attaches to the Court, 
he was grave and thoughtful, notwithstanding all the 
inuendoes and banterings of Sir Francis. 

The truth was, there was something in the counte- 
nance of the young girl that had peculiarly arrested 
his attention, and struck upon some chord which vi- 
brated to his heart. It was not her beauty alone: 
there was an indefinable feeling of having seen some 
one who resembled her; but it was so vague and 
shadowy, that he could not fix it upon any one indi- 
vidual; it was not so much admiration as a sensation 
of intense curiosity and interest. There was an ex- 
pression in the glance of the unknown beauty, thal 


78 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


haunted his imagination; and the accent of her voice, 
when she briefly expressed her thanks, rang on his 
ears like some well-remembered melody. He must 
see her again. 

The young man was restless and uncomfortable, 
and he saw that he was watched with a scrutinizing 
eye by Sir Francis, who already felt himself rather 
ill-used, and jealous. He had been the first to dis- 
cover the fair incognita, and fancied that she was his 
exclusive property. To improve his acquaintance 
with her, he was quite determined ; but he would not 
again allow of a partner in the affair. With indefa- 
tigable industry, which would have been admirable in 
a better cause, he sought to discover where she lived 
and who she was — but in vain — no trace of her could 
be found ? 

It must also be allowed, that Lord Fitz-Ernest 
(whom we have before forgotten to designate by his 
proper name) was not idle in the same pursuit ; but 
the mysterious beauty had disappeared ; and although 
he lingered, hour after hour, on the esplanade — 
looked, with a penetrating eye into every vehicle that 
passed — resorted to the libraries — allowed himself to 
be jostled by the dirty mob, as he loitered at the coach 
offices, and, in short, wearied himself by his anxiety, 
he could not again feast his earnest gaze upon those 
expressive features; he could only recall to his fancy 
the enchantment of her smile, and remember the 
sweetness of her plaintive voice. 

For a few days the impression was vivid in the ex- 
treme ; but with the changeful, happy life of a young 
man, with the world and all the enjoyments it con- 
tains before him, the keenness of it by degrees wore 
off; and, although the image of the lovely girl often 
arose before his imagination, in a manner for which 
he could scarcely account, still it was but a passing 
thought, and no longer proved, as at first, a real 
source of annoyance and torment. 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


79 


CHAPTER XII. 

We have lost sight, for some time, of the Belmont 
family. It was several months after my return to 
England, that I found all these amiable beings well 
and happy in London. Most eagerly and anxiously 
they asked for every particular concerning poor Ro- 
salie. The account I gave of her caused bitter tears 
to flow from many »n eye. 

Sweet Lady Gertrude was, indeed, heart stricken 
when she heard the details of all the sufferings her 
loved friend had endured, and the miseries that were 
still in store for her. The young men were indignant 
and disgusted. Lord Henry, who was of an impetu- 
ous spirit, quick and ardent in all his feelings, strong- 
ly urged his wish to set off immediately for Italy, in 
order to endeavour to extricate his dearly remem- 
bered playmate from the hands of her tyrant. 

It may be readily imagined that I opposed this plan 
most resolutely. What a train of evils would it have 
engendered ! I wished that I had painted the affair 
with less vivid colours; I saw the effect it produced 
on the minds of both the young men, and, as is often 
the case, after having been too diffuse and communi- 
cative upon any subject, I longed to unsay all that 
had escaped my lips. 

I remembered the dark countenance of the Italian, 
the malignity which constantly overspread his fea- 
tures, and, at that moment, I could even imagine 
that his passions might impel him to the perpetration 
of almost any crime, howsoever hideous. 

I remembered, too, Arturo — his deep, his jealous 
love for Rosalie; how would he endure the sight of 
this handsome, generous youth, upon whom the ob- 
ject of his unrequited passion, "would pour all the 
hitherto locked up torrent of her affection— an af- 


80 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


fection, purely sisterly, but still one she did not dare 
to demonstrate towards the fiery young man, whose 
blood flowed with the vehement warmth of his cli- 
mate, unrestrained by education, precept, or example. 

All that could be done at present, was to hold a 
council upon the subject, and endeavour to discover 
if there were any possibility of extricating her from 
the power of Gabrielli; but, after mature delibera- 
tion, we found that such a scheme, at present, would 
indeed be impracticable. The only plan to. pursue, 
was to allow events to take their course ; and should 
the health of the poor girl really give way, after she 
had appeared upon the stage, which I felt convinced 
it certainly must do — then would be the moment to 
make terms with the Italian, ^and come forward to her 
rescue, although I feared — oh, God! and but too just- 
ly ! — that the wretch would rather see her die in the 
fetters which his avaricious hand had bound around 
her. 

In a private conversation with the Marchioness, I 
mentioned to her what 1 considered the morbid state 
of poor Rosalie’s feelings, with regard to her situation, 
which made her shrink from the idea of associating 
with those she most loved. Lady Belmont was af- 
fected to tears, by this token of the sensibility of the 
poor girl. In reply, she said to me : 

“ I cannot but admit, in a great measure, the truth 
of what the dear child says upon the subject; it is a 
touching proof of the justness and propriety of her feel- 
ings ; for, although I can never abandon or look cold- 
ly upon one I love, and ever shall continue to love so 
well, still it will be a difficult position for us all. The 
character of Gabrielli appears so unprincipled and un- 
amiable, that it must be painful to my every feeling, to 
see my daughters in any way mixed up in his con- 
cerns. However, their position, in the world is such, 
they need not hesitate to take by the hand one who 
was the companion of their early years, public as may 
be her present situation. Still, it is a lamentable bu- 
siness,” she continued, “ and one that really dwells 
upon my mind, and makes me unhappy ; I often de- 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


81 


plore, and reproach myself for the part that I have 
had in this sad finale. The concerts at Belmont ! when 
1 brought her so unnecessarily forward, and placed 
her under the notice of this dreadful Italian ; but, little 
did I foresee such a train of untoward events.” 

All this excellent lady said, was but too true. I 
could only listen in silence, and inwardly deplore the 
sad fate of my poor Rosalie. 

I soon discovered that Lady Gertrude had been 
wooed and won by a youthful nobleman, who appear- 
ed in every respect worthy of her. The marriage, 
however, was not to take place for some months, owe* 
ing to the young man not having attained his majori- 
ty. I fancied that I had also made another discovery. 
There was a certain Lady Constance Delavel, who 
was much talked about by my young friends; and I 
soon settled it in my own mind, that Fitz-Ernest must 
have looked kindly upon her. It appeared an alli- 
ance much desired by the family, who were vehement 
in their praise of this noble young lady ; and, indeed, 
I was told, in confidence, by my sweet lady Gertrude, 
who never wihheld any thing that she thought would 
interest and give pleasure to her fond old friend, that 
she knew the fair Constance had no longer a heart at 
her own disposal, for she was certain it was devotedly 
bestowed upon her brother. 

“ But, although Fitz-Ernest,” she continued, “ ad- 
mires dear Constance very much, I fear it is not, as 
yet, that warm attachment which I am sure she feels 
towards him ; but we hope and pray, that in time, we 
may have the joy of seeing him thoroughly impressed 
byher perfections. She is a being most peculiarly 
formed to constitute the happiness of such a delight- 
ful creature as our own dear Fitz-Ernest. I am al- 
most inclined to imagine,” the sweet girl added, smi- 
ling and blushing, “ that ew women only know how 
to love fervently and devotedly. However, it is not 
fair to say so, for I think I could point out one, who 
understands the feeling as well as we do. You have 
never told me, Mr. Leslie, how you like Alandale; 


82 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


but you must love him, and number him also amongst 
your children, as you have always considered us.” 

My heart was truly touched by the affection and 
confidence of this lovely being. I assured her of all 
she longed and hoped to hear, and gave deserved 
praise to the object of her choice, who was, indeed, 
a noble, fine young man, and I trusted fervently, wor- 
thy of the treasure it was his bright destiny to hope 
to possess. 

I was, of course, all anxiety to see Lady Constance, 
and an opportunity soon occurred of satisfying my 
curiosity. I heard that she had arrived in London, 
and the next day I found her in Lady Gertrude’s 
morning-room. I was introduced to her in a most 
flattering manner, and was proud to find that she 
seemed predisposed, by the affectionate partiality of 
my dear young friend, to become at once acquainted 
with me. 

I was immediately prepossessed in her favour. 
Though perhaps not, strictly speaking, beautiful, there 
was a degree of sweetness and benevolence in her 
countenance, combined with an air of graceful digni- 
ty in her bearing, which was more exquisitely be- 
witching than the most striking loveliness. Her figure 
was perfect, and her hands and feet were small and 
delicate — the stamp of high-breeding pervaded her 
whole demeanour. At once, I could have guessed 
that she was nobly born; and on farther acquaintance, 
1 perceived, with much satisfaction, that she was pos- 
sessed of nobility of soul as well as that of station. 

She greeted me most cordially ; in a moment I was 
at my ease with her : and before I had been in her 
presence half an hour, I was as devoted to her cause, 
and as anxious for her marriage with Fitz-Ernest, as 
if I had known her from her infancy. 

“ Oh, how glad I am that you like her, which I see 
you do,” whispered Lady Gertrude to me, as her 
friend moved across the room, to examine some work 
that was in a frame near the window. 

“ Like her! who could see her and not admire her!” 
I answered, in the same low tone. 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


83 


At this instant, the door opened, and our party was 
increased by the presence of Fitz-Ernest. Then, in- 
deed, did I see the eloquent blood rush over the face 
and neck of Lady Constance, as she stooped over the 
frame, and pretended to be busily employed in exam- 
ining the flowers which were there traced ; and when 
she again raised her head to return Fitz-Ernest’s kind, 
almost affectionate greeting, I saw that she looked 
paler than she had been before. 

I was not quite satisfied with the young Lord’s man- 
ner; it was almost too kind — too cordial — too unre- 
strained, to be that of a lover ; still, I thought, love 
must follow ; he can never be so cold-hearted as to 
withstand such attachment as thrills within the breast 
of that very delightful girl. 

The conversation soon took a lively and general 
turn; Lady Constance quickly recovered from the lit- 
tle embarrassment occasioned by the sudden entrance 
of Fitz-Ernest, and we all enjoyed our animated and 
agreeable discussions. Lady Constance evinced a 
highly cultivated mind, and a lively and refined ima- 
gination. Lord Fitz-Ernest had taken up the Morn- 
ing Post, to find out the advertisement of a new book, 
and after he had done so, he continued to run his eye 
over the paper; suddenly, he stopped, and exclaimed 
in an agitated tone of voice: — “Good Heavens! Mr. 
Leslie, can this really be she?” 

“What do you mean?” we all exclaimed. 

He read aloud : — 

“ We understand, that the debutante who we have 
before announced as likely to make her appearance 
immediately after Easter, at the Italian Opera, is the 
Signora Rosalie, daughter of the celebrated Gabrielli, 
so well known and appreciated as the finest bass sing- 
er who has ever trod the boards of our Italian stage. 
The young lady is said to be very young, and emi- 
nently beautiful; her voice, a splendid contralto; her 
education, which has been completed in Italy, has 
rendered her a most finished and accomplished act- 
ress. We expect that the musical world will be as- 


84 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


tounded and delighted by the genius which will burst 
upon their enraptured senses. We consider that the 
expected debutante will prove a gem of the most ex- 
traordinary lustre.” 

“Give me the paper,” cried Gertrude, hastily, and 
seizing it from the hand of her brother, she perused 
the paragraph rapidly again, in order, with her own 
eyes, to ascertain the truth of what she had heard, 
and then burst into tears. 

“ Arc you indeed about to be sacrificed, poor Ro- 
salie !” she exclaimed. “ But, then,” and her counte- 
nance brightened, “ she will be near us, and we can 
assist to support and encourage her.” 

My eyes were flowing in company with this sweet 
young lady’s. The news had come upon us all so 
suddenly. I had not heard from Rosalie for some 
time, and we had no idea that she was so soon to be 
in England; indeed, at this very moment she might be 
in London. 

Fitz-Ernest rose, and in a hurried manner took up 
his hat. “ I shall go immediately,” he said, “ and 
endeavour to find out if they have arrived. I will call 
upon Lafleur, the manager, and ascertain all about 
them and quickly wishing Lady Constance good 
morning, he left the room. 

I do not know why I did so, but instantly my eyes 
sought the countenance of Lady Constance, and saw 
that a pang of suffering had shot through her heart ; 
but she strove to conceal any feeling but that of inter- 
est in the subject, and immediately entered warmly 
into it. She had often heard of Rosalie, but it was as 
the playmate of the young people of the Belmont fa- 
mily. Now, she asked several questions with much 
eagerness. 

“Was she beautiful?” 

“Fearfully so,” I answered without reflection. 

“ Was she dark, or fair?” 

I described her as she was now; — her jet black hair, 
her splendid eyes — 


Dark as the stilly night,’ 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


85 


her clear, rich, olive complexion; and warming with 
the subject, I went on with all the garrulity of age and 
fondness, more fully to dilate upon it. “ I shall never 
forget when last I saw her,” I continued ; “ she was 
sitting, with her guitar in her hand, but she was not 
touching it; she was in deep and painful meditation, 
and appeared lost to every surrounding object; her 
fine hair was negligently bound up, but some tresses, 
which had escaped, played on her neck, and round 
her beautiful countenance; the light drapery of her 
dress — her whole figure, air, and attitude, were such 
as might be copied for a Grecian nymph.” 

At every word I uttered, Lady Constance looked 
more sad, and I saw her cast a wistful glance at a 
large looking-glass which hung before her, where she 
beheld reflected, features so totally different from 
those I had been describing; her soft, dove-like, eyes 
— light glossy ringlets — the fairest and most delicate 
complexion. 

“ Poor Lady Constance !” I sighed to myself; “ we 
have all stings in our hearts, and yours you have just 
received — God grant that it may not long rankle in it!” 
And I began to turn in my mind thoughts which had 
never before entered into it — the dreadful idea of the 
bare possibility of a circumstance that would be, 
indeed, most fatal — ruinous to the peace of all! This 
poor child, this unfortunate Rosalie, she seemed fated 
to be my torment. Much as I loved her, there was 
a degree of fearful anxiety mingled in all her concerns, 
a kind of fatality about every circumstance which at- 
tended her, that alarmed and troubled me; she was a 
kind of light, a fascination which I felt I must ever 
follow, although it might lead me into sorrow and 
perplexity. She had twined herself so closely round 
my heart, I could not cast her off, she must ever re- 
main there; but a foreboding feeling told me that she 
would indeed prove a fearful care. 

I sat, silent and absorbed in these painful medita- 
tions, but Lady Gertrude continued to talk with much 
eagerness upon the subject. Lady Constance asked, 
with intense interest, question after question; and I 

VOL. i. — 8 


86 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


heard words which convinced me that the sweet fair 
girl was making for herself a formidable rival in poor 
Rosalie. “May God avert such an evil!” was my 
most fervent aspiration, as I quitted the apartment ; 
and I carried away with me a painful impression 
which seemed to haunt my imagination, and which I, 
in vain, endeavoured to shake off. 




CHAPTER XIII. 

I dined at Belmont House that evening, and of 
course was all impatience to learn the result of Fitz- 
Ernest’s inquiries respecting Rosalie. He told me 
that he had seen Lafleur, who assured him, that the 
Gabriellis had not yet arrived in London ; he knew 
they were in England, as Gabrielli had been with him, 
but of their present place of destination he was quite 
ignorant; he added that they must soon be here, as 
the appearance of the daughter, as he called her, was 
so shortly to take place. 

“ Good heavens, Mr. Leslie,” continued Fitz-Ernest, 
“ what a description Lafleur gives of Rosalie ! what a 
splendid creature she must have become! He went 
to Italy on purpose to see her, before he entered into 
the engagement; for Gabrielli was preposterous in his 
demands; however, without any hesitation, he agreed 
to his enormous terms. I can well imagine her voice 
being as fine as he describes it ; but, upon my word, 
to think of our poor little coal black Rose having turn- 
ed out such an exquisitely beautiful woman, is almost 
beyond the verge of my comprehension ; certainly I 
have heard you speak of her as perfection, but for- 
give me when I say that I believed just one half of 
all your eulogiums, and placed the other, to the par- 
tiality and interest you have ever felt, in so warm a 
degree, for the poor girl ; indeed, dear sir, you need 


THE YOUNG PRIM A DONNA. 


87 


not be offended at what I have said, for no one can 
participate more fully in your feelings than I do. I 
can never forget old associations and attachments, 
and the idea of Rosalie is annexed to many a bright 
thought of by -gone days.” 

******** 

After this period the subject of Rosalie, was, for a 
short space at rest. It was ever one of pain and 
anxiety, and we seemed all, with one accord, to be 
waiting for the moment when we should hear of her 
arrival in London ; but it was with a heavy and fore- 
boding heart that I looked forward to this event. In 
the mean time my thoughts were directed towards a 
result which offered a much more smiling aspect — it 
was the daily increasing pleasure Fitz-Ernest evinced 
in the society of the fair Constance. Not a day elapsed 
without the two families meeting, and every hour I 
fancied I observed the feelings of my young friend 
grow more like those of a lover towards this charm- 
ing girl. The more I knew of her, the stronger be- 
came my admiration and affection, and although at 
first sight I did not think her peculiarly handsome, 
soon I began to consider her the very perfection of 
loveliness. My readers will long ere this have per- 
ceived that I am a most enthusiastic old man ; some 
of them perchance may have set me down as being 
nearly in a state of dotage, but if they had only seen 
and known all the delightful beings, amongst whom it 
was my bright destiny to be thrown, they would ex- 
cuse my raptures and must have said, that I could not 
be too ecstatic upon such a theme. 

All, as I have before stated, went on smoothly with 
the Belmont family, and it was decided that the whole 
party were to go to the Abbey during the Easter re- 
cess. They greatly urged me to accompany them, but 
I was proof against all their affectionate importunity; 
there was something about that place which made me 
very sad, and I now invariably kept aloof from it; it 
reminded me too painfully of days of past happiness — 
days of usefulness— of peace arising from the feeling 
of well employed time, such as I was certain I should 


88 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


never again enjoy; another reason chained me to the 
spot, I wished to remain in London, to receive the 
earliest notice of Rosalie’s arrival. 

I solaced myself with the idea that in the lovely 
shades and walks of the beauteous spot to which they 
had repaired, the two lovers’ minds would be more than 
ever attuned to love ; the country seemed more fitted 
for such feelings, than the clouded atmosphere of Lon- 
don; I augured most favourably of this trip, and was 
convinced that Lady Constance would return, the af- 
fianced bride of the excellent and noble Fifz-Ernest; 
and with these bright hopes I cheered myself, w'hilst 
the days passed without bringing any tidings of Ro- 
salie. I importuned the manager with inquiries, but 
it struck me that he was cautious of speaking of the 
movements of Gabrielli, and I felt certain there was 
some preconcerted concealment in the case, and that 
the wily Italian was determined to keep Rosalie from 
the effects of our influence as long as it was possible 
to do so. I could only learn, what I before knew, 
that soon after Easter she was to make her appear- 
ance; I was fidgetty and uncomfortable. Constantly 
did I find myself bending my steps towards Golden 
Square, and all those neighbourhoods, where I thought 
it most likely Gabrielli would take up his abode. 

I was walking one day across Soho Square, when 
at the corner, crowded by the numbers that attend 
the Bazaar, I felt some one suddenly take hold of my 
arm, and on turning round beheld Johnson. With a 
start of mingled surprise and pleasure, I accosted her, 
asking her at once a multitude of questions. My first 
inquiry, of course, was to ascertain if Rosalie was in 
London. She looked round on all sides before she re- 
plied, to be sure that no one saw her speaking to me, 
and then said, “ Indeed Sir, I am afraid to stay here 
any longer, for if the Signor was to see me, I should get 
into sad trouble, but if you will tell me where I can 
find you, I will endeavour to come to you between the 
hours of eight and ten this evening.” 

I gave her my address, and she immediately hurried 
away; fortunate was it that she did so, for turning 


THE YOUNG TRIMA DONNA. 


89 


quickly round the corner of the Square, I found myself 
abruptly face to face with Gabrielli. He evidently 
would much rather not have met me, but he was 
obliged to stop and receive my salutations, and in an- 
swer to my inquiries concerning Rosalie, said that she 
would be in London in a few days, but that he had not 
yet decided in what part of the town, he should esta- 
blish himself; he added, that she must entirely devote 
herself to her profession, that she would not have a 
moment’s leisure, as the rehearsals would occupy all 
her time. The wretch was barely civil, and escaped 
from me hastily, with very little of the courtesy of 
manner, he used to evince towards me. 

Anxiously did I await the arrival of Johnson. The 
poor woman came at length; she was looking dread- 
fully thin and haggard, and her countenance was full 
of trouble and vexation. I made her sit down by me, 
and then she told me they had been some months in 
England, living in the neighbourhood of London ; but 
that Ro^lie was so strictly guarded and secluded, that 
no letter she had written was allowed to be sent to 
any of her friends. 

“I would willingly”" said Johnson, “have been her 
secret messenger, but I have the eye of the Signor 
fixed upon me with suspicion and dislike. I dared not 
do any thing that might incur his displeasure, for he 
has sworn, with the most frightful imprecations, that 
if I in any way disobey his orders, if he can trace to 
me the slightest opposition to his will, I shall that mo- 
ment be- dismissed from the presence of those two 
poor beings who, without me, I really believe could 
not exist. Indeed, Sir,” she continued, whilst the tears 
streamed from her eyes, “ were I to leave them, God 
knows what would become of them 1 my poor mistress, 
you will be shocked to hear, is in a very precarious 
state ; a blow from that inhuman monster has produced 
consequences which I fear, will terminate in her death. 
As for Miss Rosalie, her situation has become much 
more insupportable, from the circumstance of that bad 
man having brought into the house a woman, whom 
I know to be of the most infamous character; she is, 
' 8 * 


90 


THE YOUNG PRIM A. DONNA. 


the sister of Gabrielli ; and poor Miss Rosalie says she 
is very musical and clever, but oh ! Mr. Leslie,” con- 
tinued the faithful creature, sobbing as if her heart 
would break, “ what a sight it is for me to behold, this 
vile, degraded being, as I know her to be, lording it 
over that poor sweet innocent girl, actually tyranniz- 
ing, over her. Although Gabrielli has told you that 
the family have not yet come to London, you must 
not believe it; we have been some weeks settled in one 
of the most notoriously bad streets of the town, where 
a decent female is ashamed to show her face; and all 
this I am certain, is his cunning plan to keep her com- 
pletely aloof from the Belmont family, and from you; 
what is to become of her, God only knows ! and much 
as I love the poor child, I have brought my mind to 
think, that, should it please God to take her, it would 
he to me a less painful sight to look upon her lying at 
peace in her .coffin, than exposed to such a life of 
wretchedness, as she is now leading.” 

My readers will imagine the state of my fe^ings, on 
hearing this sad narration ; indignation and disgust 
were mingled with grief; and the inability I felt of 
being of any great use, in the present state of affairs, 
heightened my annoyance to real torture. It seemed 
dreadful to remain quiet, and to allow this poor young 
creature to be hurled, without one effort to save her, 
into that abyss of destruction, which seemed to await 
her. But, ^gracious heavens ! what was I to do ? how 
cope with that villian, who would visit upon his victim, 
every opposition that was offered, to his infamous 
views. The Belmont family being away, increased 
my distress; there was no one to assist me with advice. 

On making farther inquiries of Johnson, I found 
that even the comfort of poor Arturo’s society was 
now at an end ; for although they were obliged to 
meet professionally, Gabrielli looked with suspicion 
upon him, and Rosalie was so guarded by the lynx 
eye of the Signora Myrtilla, that she dared not speak 
to him in confidence. Johnson also added, that her 
spirits were in a very fluctuating and alarming state; 
sometimes she was sunk to the lowest ebb of dejection, 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


91 


and at other moments, there was a wild exciting fe- 
ver about her, more painful to behold, even than her 
former sadness; “ in short,” added the poor woman, 
“I have great fears upon one subject, which I can 
hardly dare name, it is too shocking — but, Sir, her 
mind! how will it ever stand all this tumult and dis- 
order? when I see her acting a part all about a mad 
young lady, it nearly sets me beside myself, it is so 
dreadfully natural ; indeed it hardly seems like act- 
ing.” 

I deliberated for several minutes, and then begged 
that I might have Arturo’s direction; this she could 
not give me, but promised to send him to me if she 
could possibly obtain a moments conversation with 
him. All I could now do, was to force upon her 
some money, which I desired might be used, in pro- 
curing any little comforts for the poor suffering mo- 
ther and daughter, and I promised to endeavour soon 
to see Rosalie, without compromising Johnson as 
having been my informant respecting their place of 
abode. 

My rest that night was much disturbed, by the me- 
lancholy images this visit had conjured up in my dis- 
ordered fancy; and the wan wretched countenance 
of poor Johnson was ever before me. It told a 
touching tale of wo and misery, scarcely needing the 
grievous circumstance she had related, to show what 
wretchedness the villanous conduct of Gabrielli, had 
brought on the hapless females now so completely in 
his poweiv 


CHAPTER XIV. 

The next morning I rose feverish and uncomforta- 
ble, and had just seated myself before my solitary 
breakfast table, when the door opened, and Arturo, 
with his usual impetuosity, rushed into the room, and 


92 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


in a moment was embracing me, after the demon- 
strative fashion of his own country. Poor youth ! can 
I ever forget the wild impassioned manner in which 
he saluted me? his joy and ecstacy in having once 
more found me. “ Oh, my friend,” he exclaimed, 
“ am I again so happy, as to feel myself in your pre- 
sence — to see your kind countenance once more 
beaming upon me with looks of interest and affection; 
— oh! how much have I required your assistance! 
how have I prayed that I might soon find you! thank 
Heaven, the desired moment is arrived, that here 
you are again to succour, to befriend our unfortunate 
Rosalie.” 

He was so agitated, that it was some time before 
he could calm himself, sufficiently to answer all my 
questions. He too, poor fellow ! was very much al- 
tered in his appearance; he was looking worn and 
dejected; the fire of his eye was dimmed by sadness, 
and the tones of his voice seemed languid, compared 
with what they had been. 

The history he gave me, tallied much with that 
which I had received from Johnson, as regarded the 
wretchedness of Rosalie. He told me that, added to 
all the other unfortunate circumstances, he had himself 
quarrelled with Gabrielli, who had forbidden his ever 
entering the house, and that henceforth he was never 
again to see her, excepting at the rehearsals which 
were immediately to take place at the Opera house. 

“Thank Heaven!” he said, “I had received my 
engagement, previous to having brought upon myself 
the enmity of this monster, or this privilege would 
have been denied to me ; but from having sung so 
long with Signora Rosalie, he was too glad to exhibit 
her talents to the London manager, in their most at- 
tractive manner, and certainly, though I say it with 
all due humility, she never sang with so much spirit, 
as when her voice was combined with mine. Oh! 
those were happy days, when our music constituted 
her greatest solace; and the blissful months we spent, 
when you were in Italy, caro signor miol the remem- 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


93 


brance of them renders this present wretched period, 
still more insupportable.” 

On questioning him farther, I discovered that the 
chief cause of Gabrielli’s enmity towards Artbro had 
commenced from the young man’s extreme anger- and 
disgust, at his having given the persecuted Rosalie 
completely over to the jurisdiction of his sister, the 
Signora Myrtilla — a woman of doubtful character and 
of a notoriously violent disposition. He had presumed 
to expostulate with the man, and had been insulted 
and spurned by him. 

“ Oh Signor,” he exclaimed, as with almost frantic 
agitation he paced the apartment, “ what have I not 
endured in consequence ! Look with pity, I beseech 
you, upon my presumption, when you hear that on the 
impulse of my outraged feelings at seeing the sweet 
angel forced to exist in an atmosphere so polluted, I 
went to her, and on my knees declared the passion 
which filled my breast — my unbounded love ; I even 
pressed her to unite her fate with mine, obscure and 
uncertain as it was — I urged her to allow me to ob- 
tain the right of protecting her — of shielding her from 
insult and degradation, and then to fly to England and 
claim the kindness, and assistance of her influential and 
and attached friends ; I felt that I had the means of 
working for her, and, oh ! to be her slave — to toil for 
her. To devote every energy of mind and body, to 
procure her comfort and happiness, would have been 
to me the brightest of destinies — oh ! what unqualified 
bliss !” Here his emotion became too overpowering; 
for some moments he was unable to proceed, and was 
silent. 

How much did I respect this silence, dear youth, 
and how truly did my heart respond to every feeling 
he expressed ! it was with breathless anxiety that I 
listened, whilst he proceeded in his detail. 

“ Rosalie heard me with an amazed expression of 
countenance, but when she spoke, what torture did 
she inflict upon me! kindly but resolutely, she endea- 
voured to destroy every hope of my heart ; she told 
me that she did indeed love me tenderly — affection- 


94 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


ately, and she fervently implored me to continue to 
her, my faithful attachment — but as a friend only — I 
must extinguish every other sentiment. Gracious 
heavens ! what did she ask? little could she imagine 
the stormy feelings of my soul! she might as well have 
ordered a volcano not to emit smoke and flames — the 
waves of the sea to cease to roll — the sun to hide its 
light. No, the flame must burn constantly — fiercely, 
until it consumes the heart from which it rises.” 

Truly did I believe him, for never did sincerity de- 
picture itself more clearly than in the every expres- 
sion which fell from the lips of this devoted being; he 
continued : 

“ Arturo,” added she, “ do not be so wretched on 
my account, for you may think it extraordinary, that 
at this moment, when my woes appear to thicken 
around me, I should be much calmer — much more re- 
signed to my fate. I see an end to all my troubles, 
and whilst there is a hope to sustain us, every thing 
may be endured. What I am going to say, may 
make you unhappy now, but it ought not to do so, 
and I hope, in time, even you will rejoice at the pro- 
spect which is to bring me freedom, and I firmly trust 
— felicity; the fact is, my kind Arturo — my best of 
brothers, I am certain that it is impossible for me to 
enjoy a shadow of happiness in this world; my destiny 
here is sealed. Whilst I anticipated a long life of 
misery, I was overwhelmed — dismayed; but my views 
have changed, and I confidently hope that there are 
bright joys for me above ; that the arms of mercy are 
opening to receive me, and that my trial will not be 
of long continuance. I feel firmly persuaded that I 
shall soon die; T bear within me the seeds of disease ; 
I am convinced, this constant singing is destroying 
my lungs; depend upon what I say, I am an expiring 
lamp, I may burn brightly for a brief space, but 
quickly and suddenly will the flame of fire be extin- 
guished; my mind, and body are equally exhausted. 
But, Arturo,” she continued pitying my distress — my 
perfect wretchedness, “ do not be so unhappy — look 
at me, I am calm, and thanks to the God of mercies, 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


95 


perfectly resigned. It has not however been without 
the severest struggle, that you find me as I am ; hu- 
man nature will rebel, and the tenacity with which — 
wonderful to say — we all cling to this miserable world, 
made me at first shrink from the idea of an early 
death — but the pang is over — thanks to the lessons of 
my beloved friend Mr. Leslie; he pointed out to me 
the way, and my life of trial has rendered my task of 
submission much more easy than if the road had been 
strewed with roses; and my good Arturo, have I not 
a blessed example — a bright stimulus, when I remem- 
ber who preceded me in the path of suffering, and 
who has hallowed, and consecrated every step.” 

“Mr. Leslie,” continued Arturo, “as the sweet 
creature thus spoke, her countenance appeared to 
shine with a degree of heavenly radiance; she looked 
indeed too ethereal — too angelic for this world of wo 
and wickedness, and her prophetic words struck upon 
my heart; I feared that they were but too true. I was 
kneeling at her feet, perfectly overwhelmed with grief. 
I could not speak — I could only, unmanned as I was, 
weep forth my sorrow ; at this moment, most unex- 
pectedly, Gabrielli entered the apartment — and what 
a scene ensued ! His rage and fury knew no bounds. 
Hq then for the first time, felt convinced that I loved 
Rosalie. He ordered me from her presence, and with 
bitter imprecations, commanded me never to enter his 
doors again ; never henceforth to address my sweet 
friend, but with the cold restraint of a stranger; and 
here I am, heart-broken, without one comfort left on 
earth but the prospect of meeting her in public, watched 
by the eye of malice and distrust, which renders our 
intercourse restricted to the most formal terms. Still 
I have the bliss of seeing her, I gaze upon that coun- 
tenance I love so well, and my heart is not yet quite 
crushed — quite withered. I wander for hours, when 
it is too dark for me to be observed, before the house 
which contains my treasure; my mind too is solaced 
by sometimes meeting Johnson, and through that me- 
dium receiving messages of affection from the idol of 
my heart.” 


96 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


I shook my head in dismay ; the case, indeed seemed 
hopeless ; and how was I to proceed ? what steps could 
I take to assist my poor protegee ? The only chance 
I saw for her, was the plan she had once before so 
successfully pursued ; it was again to assume the firm- 
ness which had so completely intimidated, and, in a 
degree, conquered the Italian ; but Arturo told me that 
months of continual excitement and suffering, had al- 
most totally subdued her spirit, and her weakened 
health rendered her quite unequal to cope with the 
united persecution which assailed her. 

The question now was how to gain access to her 
without making it appear from whom I had gained 
my information. See her I must, and would. Arturo 
advised me to go to Lafleur, and obtain "Gabrielli’s 
address from him; at length, it was decided that this 
should be my first step. I felt that already Arturo’s 
heart was lightened; it was no small degree of com- 
fort to- him, to be assured by me that he could not 
visit me too often ; in short, that I expected to see him 
every day. With the freedom of an attached friend, 
I inquired into his pecuniary resources, and was glad 
to find he was to have a lucrative engagement at the 
Opera. But to his own wants he appeared indifferent ; 
reckless was he of every consideration, save the one 
absorbing, wholly engrossing feeling of his ardent heart. 
In vain I besought him to consider his own prospects; 
he said he had none, they were all directed to one 
point, and when that was over, his existence would be 
a dreary blank — he should no longer have even energy 
left to live. 

It was very affecting and beautiful to witness this 
extraordinary devotion, in these days of selfishness 
and luxury, when the indulgence of every appetite is 
the sole and ceaseless aim of the young men of the 
present age, who allow clubs, horse-racing, and the 
gaming-table, added to all other sensual gratifications 
to supersede the natural, and much to be admired af- 
fections of the heart. In these degenerate and unro- 
mantic times, matrimony is rarely associated with any 
other idea, save that of aggrandizement, so that the 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


97 


disinterested, unselfish attachment of the young Ita- 
lian was to me like a dream of olden times, when love 
and chivalry were the burden of the song. He seemed 
to love Rosalie the more ardently for her very suf- 
ferings. Oh ! how truly I felt for him ; although I saw 
at once, poor youth, that his case was desperate. 

In my present state of mind, I could fain have be- 
lieved in all that is sung and said of broken hearts, 
and have repeated in the words of the poet :•*— 

“ I never heard 

Of any true affection, bnt ’twas nipt 

With care, that like the catterpillar, eats 

The leaves of the spring’s sweetest book, the rose.” 

I went instantly to the manager, and received the 
direction I required. It was truly a most disreputable 
street in which Gabrielli had taken up his abode; thi- 
ther I bent my steps ; I knocked, and a dirty maid-ser- 
vant opened the door. 

“ Is Miss Elton at home ?” I inquired. 

“ No,” was the answer. 

“ Then I must see Signor Gabrielli.” He also was 
not within, and Madame Gabrielli was too ill to see 
any one. 

“ Then,” I persisted “ I wish to speak to Johnson.” 

The woman looked confused, and was hesitating 
how she might still persevere in her falsehoods, when 
all farther trouble was spared by the sudden appear- 
ance of Rosalie herself, who rushed down the stair- 
case, and flew into my arms. 

My well known voice had reached her ear, and, re- 
gardless of the opposition of the odious Myrtilla, who 
in vain endeavoured to prevent her escape, she had 
burst from her, and sought the only refuge— the only 
comfort she could feel on earth — that of finding herself 
in the arms of her fond old friend. 

She had no power of utterance, poor girl; she could 
only sob whilst she hung upon my neck ; but this was 
for a brief moment; we were not permitted to remain 
uninterrupted. A woman, whom I immediately re- 
cognized as Myrtilla, appeared ; she was evidently la- 

VOL. i. — 9 


98 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


bouring under great excitement of feeling, in other 
words she was in a violent passion, and vociferated in 
Italian : “ This is all very improper, Signora Rasalie, 
you know how strict were your orders that no one 
should be admitted to disturb your very important 
studies. My brother will be very angry at this dis- 
obedience to his commands.” 

I expostulated with the woman, and strove to sooth 
her ire, although I felt, Heaven forgive me, much 
more inclined to precipitate her from the top to the 
bottom of the stairs, upon which she stood, gesticu- 
lating in an accent, to my ear, peculiarly harsh and 
disagreeable. 

“Might I not,” I said, “enter some apartment, 
where I could have some conversation with Miss 
Elton V’ 

She replied : “ No, certainly not, unless she were 
also present; she had received the most positive orders 
from Signor Gabrielli.” 

“Very well,” I said, “so let it be;” and following 
her I led my poor weeping girl into a parlour, where 
with looks of fury, the Signora accompanied us. This 
creature seemed to be little more than thirty years of 
age ; she might be considered handsome, but to me, her 
countenance was like that of a demon, and her rouged 
cheeks rendered her fierce black eyes still more bold 
and piercing. Merciful heaven ! what a companion 
for this unfortunate girl, whom I saw trembling in 
every limb. 

I made her sit down by me, and then whispered the 
question, whether Myrtilla understood English. 

She answered, “No.” 

This was so far fortunate; at least I hoped to gain 
some information from her, but she appeared para- 
lyzed by fear, as this horrid woman sat opposite to 
her with her large fiery orbs fixed full upon her coun- 
tenance. 

I felt my anger rise to an insupportable degree. I 
turned to Rosalie, and in Italian, begged her to leave 
me for a few moments, that I might have some con- 
versation with her companion. She instantly rose, 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


99 


and quitted the appartment. Then I felt that I scarcely 
knew how I was to proceed ; whether, by a strong ef- 
fort, to check my passion, and endeavour to conciliate 
the woman, or to give way to the rage with which, I 
am ashamed to say, my whole soul was shaken. We 
were both silent for a minute, but I was soon roused 
by the sound of her unmusical voice: 

“ Che volele da me, Signore ?”* 

I replied, “ As a friend of Rosalie, I must, without 
hesitation, tell you, that you are acting most unwisely, 
and marring your own interests, or rather those of your 
employer. What is your motive for wishing to with- 
hold from her any intercourse with the friends of her 
infancy? It is not my desire to interfere with Gabrielli’s 
prospects for her; my only anxiety is to smooth the 
road of duty, which the peculiar manner in which she 
has been brought up, and her extreme sensibility, ren- 
der, perhaps, more irksome than it might otherwise 
have been.” 

“Pshaw! nonsense!” she replied. “Sensibility! 
indeed; — say obstinacy ! She is the most wilful, tire- 
some girl with whom I have ever had to deal — the 
most difficult to manage. The trouble and patience 
Gabrielli has had with her is not to be imagined : think 
of the expense he has bestowed upon her education ! 
and now, at this critical moment, when she is just about 
to make her debut, what with her sensibility and hys- 
terics, and her affectation of propriety, if we do not 
take care, she will be a failure after all, and then, God 
knows what will be the consequence !” 

“ Perhaps,” thought 1, “it might be her salvation!” 

She proceeded rapidly and loudly — “Gabrielli 
wishes to keep her away from her friends — I, more 
properly, call them her enemies — that her nerves may 
be kept as tranquil as possible. To what has she to 
look but her profession, I should like to know ? and 
what splendid prospects are hers, if she chooses to 
make proper use of her extraordinary talents! — foolish! 
absurd girl !” 


What is your business with me, sir?” 


100 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


I tried to argue with the creature ; and, at last, I 
think gained a little ground, by declaring that my in : 
fluence would rather second their wishes, than frus- 
trate them — that I had not come with any view of 
withdrawing Rosalie from her profession ; and I en- 
deavoured to persuade her, that by allowing her free in- 
tercourse with me, I was certain both her health and 
spirits would be improved, and that she would be in a 
much more favourable state to appear before the pub- 
lic, than she now was. 

I perceived that my words were beginning to have 
some effect; but, oh ! how my heart recoiled at the 
idea of thus temporizing with this odious woman! I 
felt that I ought to have denounced her at once ; — at 
once to have shown her how I detested her conduct. 
But I had a strong motive for my actions — the endea- 
vour to save from destruction a soul as pure, as excel- 
lent, as the other was faulty and corrupt. 

When Myrtilla recovered in a measure from her 
fit of anger, she became communicative, and informed 
me that she had left a lucrative engagement at the 
Opera, at Milan, to superintend the theatrical educa- 
tion of Rosalie. She gave me also to understand, that it 
was a great sacrifice, and that it was solely out of 
regard to Gabrielli, who she said, had always been the 
kindest of brothers. 

In answer to my questions concerning Madame 
Gabrielli, she related a very distressing account. She 
said that her complaint w’as a cancer, and that the 
worst result was anticipated. 

I begged that I might see her; but at this proposi- 
tion, another dark cloud appeared upon the counte- 
nance of the Signora; however, after a pause of con- 
sideration, she desired me to follow her, and I was 
soon in the presence of the unhappy woman. 

I found her in the drawing-room. At her feet knelt 
poor Rosalie, with her head buried upon her mother’s 
knee. It was an affecting sight ! — the poor creature 
was changed in a surprising degree ; pain and sorrow 
had sharpened her features, and a yellow sickly tinge 
overspread her whole aspect. Johnson was standing 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


101 


near them, with a countenance which indicated how 
fully she had participated in all the misery of the mo- 
ther and daughter. 

“ What foolery is all this?” cried Myrtilla, as she 
entered the apartment ; “ no wonder my brother is 
averse to your meeting your friends, if such scenes 
are to be performed for their amusement! — rise, Ro- 
salie, and compose yourself, or, depend upon it, this 
will be the last time I shall interfere in your behalf.” 

How I longed to silence the audacious woman ! but 
I restrained myself, approached the poor girl, raised 
her from her kneeling posture, and whispered words 
of consolation in her ear. Poor Madame Gabrielli 
stretched out her emaciated hand to me, and said, in 
a low tone of voice, “ I deserve all this, but that poor 
child ; — what is to be done for her ? you must never 
abandon her, for now is the moment she requires your 
protection more than ever.” 

An expressive glance from me seemed to afford 
comfort to her mind. I then asked her some ques- 
tions respecting herself; what she told me, conveyed the 
impression that her case was a very bad one. She 
had scarcely any medical attendance; I promised to 
send my own surgeon, to see her, and said that I would 
be answerable for the expense. 

Our conversation could not flow with much free- 
dom, for, although Myrtilla did not understand Eng- 
lish, her shrewd scrutinizing eyes, which were fixed 
upon us, appeared as if they pierced into our very 
thoughts. I saw, however, that it was a consolation 
to Rosalie and her mother even to behold me — to feel 
that one, so deeply interested in their cause, was near 
them. On taking my leave, I told them to be com- 
forted, for I was certain matters would improve. I 
then again requested Myrtilla to let me speak with 
her alone. 

I told her that I relied upon her good offices to in- 
duce Gabrielli to allow me to have free access to Ro- 
salie ; and also mentioned my intention of sending 
medical advice to Madame Gabrielli. At this last 
proposition, the woman shrugged up her shoulders and. 


102 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


sneered, and, with a fiend-like expression of counte- 
nance, said it was of no use spending money on such 
a hopeless business; “ for when was a cancer ever 
cured V 1 she added, with a contemptuous toss of the 
head. 

I said, that in many instances an operation had ef- 
fected a remedy. 

“ Very well 1” she replied, “ do as you will ; it does 
not signify to me, if she had every surgeon in the uni- 
verse ; — I only spoke to save your money.” 

I left the house, but with a load upon my heart : 
indeed, 1 felt with Johnson, that there are many things 
worse to bear than the death of those we love ; and, 
oh ! the idea of the sweet girl I had just quitted, rest- 
ing, in all her purity and goodness, with the green sod 
of her favourite church-yard over her, would be much 
less painful than that of leaving her, as I now did, in 
such society — with so many evils darkening around 
her. 


— »>►© © ©««•»— 


CHAPTER XV. 

It is my desire to be as little tedious as possible to 
my readers : old people are often accused of being 
tiresome, therefore I will endeavour to escape that 
accusation, and pass over many little minor events, 
which, otherwise, I would willingly record, and at 
once briefly say, that Gabrielli was induced — solely, 
however, from selfish considerations, to relax in his 
severity towards Rosalie. He at length perceived 
that her health and spirits were so completely failing 
her, that some great change must be effected, before 
she could gain sufficient energy to make those exer- 
tions, which would render her debut as brilliant and 
successful as he anticipated. 

I was surprised one morning, by his calling upon 
me, and all his servile urbanity of manner seemed to 
have returned. He told me that I was quite mistaken 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


103 


if I thought he wished to debar his dear and charming 
daughter from enjoying the happiness of my society, 
that from me, he felt certain she was always deriving 
advantage; it would be a comfort to him to afford 
her the power of taking that exercise and recreation, 
of which, from his various avocations, and the ill 
health of her mother, she would be otherwise deprived. 
He farther added, that in a fortnight she would pro- 
bably make her appearance on the stage, and of course 
much practice and study were required ; but all he 
wished, was that she should devote some hours to 
this necessary duty ; the rest of the day was at her 
own disposal ; and the man finished his harangue by 
saying, he was quite sure he could rely upon me, to 
impress on her mind, the necessity of obedience and 
exertion! it was only from the knowledge of my dis- 
cretion and wisdom that he ventured to confide so 
implicitly to my direction a girl, so wayward and im- 
practicable. 

I could have answered him, but, for the sake of the 
unhappy girl, I determined to be silent, and from this 
hour her condition materially improved. 

It was now the beginning of spring; the season was 
peculiarly mild and forward, and as it suited Rosalie’s 
avocations to take an early walk, I was constantly at 
her door soon after eight o’clock. With what ex- 
quisite delight did she hail my appearance, and how 
completely like a bird just escaped from its hated 
cage, did she fly into the fresh air; and her step — 
how elastic it became ! as she gradually felt herself 
getting more and more distant from her detested 
home ! whilst she leant, with all the confiding love of 
a daughter, upon ray arm; the joy of the moment 
seemed to clear away the clouds which sorrow had 
gathered on her brow. 

I have always thought that griefs, however heavy, 
appear to lose much of their oppressive weight when 
we are under the influence of the fresh air of heaven ; 
— so it was with Rosalie. It was curious and de- 
lightful to watch the change that took place in her 
countenance, in the coarse of a very short time : she 


104 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


had indeed, much to tell me that was distressing, but 
I endeavoured to check the flow of her complaints 
and to make as light of every thing as possible. 

There was one subject, upon which I soon disco- 
vered that she was peculiarly unhappy: it was the 
idea of having to go to the theatre without any cha- 
perone more respectable than Myrtilla. 

“ Had my poor mother,” she said, “ been in a state 
to accompany me, it would have been more bearable. 
I should then have known that there was one to 
whom I could look for support; I should have felt 
that there was, at least, a semblance of respectability 
remaining to me; but now I shudder with horror at 
the thoughts of what I shall be exposed to, with no 
one to whom I can fly for refuge ; this is one of the 
most aggravated tortures I endure. The rehearsals 
as yet have been as private as possible, but still even 
at them, what have I not suffered? I felt that I in- 
haled an atmosphere of impurity. I did not see one 
countenance, save that of dear Arturo, from which I 
could extract any thing like comfort, and to him, 
poor fellow, I dared not speak ; but I saw that he 
was watching me with the keen eye of painful 
anxiety; this adds to my nervousness, for with his 
fiery impetuous feelings, I am constantly dreading 
some explosion of his anger, should he once perceive 
that any circumstance had annoyed me — Mr. Les- 
lie,” she continued turning towards me, and taking 
my hand, whilst she bent her expressive eyes with a 
look of intensity upon mine, as she spoke, “ there is 
only one circumstance which could sustain me through 
my trial in the dreadful hour of my first appearance, 
and this is your supporting presence ; it would be to 
me every thing — strength and succour.” 

Here she paused, but her wild distended eye was 
still fixed upon me with an expression of fearful im- 
patience. 

What could I say? With the swiftness of thought, 
it flashed across my mind, that her proposition was 
of a most perplexing nature; the idea of a man of 
my sacred profession taking upon himself, the office 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


105 


of appearing night after night, within the pestilential 
precints of the coulisses, to witness tamely, and with- 
out rebuke, scenes of flagrant profligacy and vice ! 

At this view of the subject, I was about to say, it 
must not — cannot be — but then again, the sweet pure 
being who leant with such confiding affection upon 
my arm — might not it be to her, as she had so em- 
phatically said — succour, in that time of need? 

The thought that I should be hovering near her, at 
that trying moment, seemed her only remaining hope. 
I, therefore, told her I would consider her request, 
and endeavour if possible to comply with it. 

“ I know what you feel,” she replied, “ I can enter 
into all the scruples which suggest themselves to you, 
but,” she exclaimed, in that excited manner, which 
always made me tremble, “ remember, it is to save 
one amongst the wretched group you will meet there; 
for I now declare solemnly, my conviction, that if I 
go alone to that hated place, defenceless — unpro- 
tected, my brain will not be able to stand it; Mr. Les- 
lie, the very idea makes it burn, and my senses be- 
come confused.” 

I tried to speak, but she interrupted me and con- 
tinued in a vehement manner, “ Why should you hesi- 
tate? your profession, I know forbids your entering 
those scenes of sin and folly into which my evil des- 
tiny casts me; still there are motives, high and holy 
motives, which may render laudable your mingling 
with the most depraved. You have a trust — a work 
to do ; the very profession which makes you shrink 
from following your poor desolate Rosalie to that 
place of lawlessness and mockery, the very thought 
of which makes her soul sicken with alarm and dis- 
gust, surely bids you not hesitate. Nothing, nothing 
can be a degradation to you, dear Mr. Leslie,” she 
continued with a volubility and gentle sophistry, 
which made me see how completely her heart was 
bent on persuading me to her wishes, “ would you 
hesitate in following the humblest of your parishion- 
ers at dear Fairbourne when you knew your presence 
w’ould protect, your influence guard them from sur- 


106 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


rounding pollution? Surely then you will not forsake 
your own Rosalie ; she who has loved and venerated 
you so long and so truly,” and she pressed both her 
hands upon my arm with all the tender earnestness of 
a child. “ Not that I fear their vices,” she continued 
with a haughty tone, on my still hesitating to reply to 
her, “they never can touch me; but,” she added 
shuddering — “ there is a crime which haunts my im- 
agination — which a demon seems to whisper in my 
ear, when amidst those people, and which tells me I 
could, 1 can free myself from their hateful contact; — 
had I but courage, I can be free,” she repeated with 
the loud laugh which was so horrible to hear, whilst 
she still pressed on my arm more closely, and looked 
into my face, with eyes that almost dazzled me by 
their brilliancy, while their dilated pupils gave 
strong indications of mental disorder. “ Whilst you 
are with me*, the demon never appears : he cannot, 
dare not approach me when you are near; and I feel 
that even in that dreadful theatre, surrounded by, oh! 
such women, and men whose very looks terrify me, 
I shall be as calm as when I used to be seated on my 
favourite footstool by your side, in that dearly loved 
study at the Rectory, where all around breathed of 
peace, tranquillity, and goodness.” 

There she paused. The remembrance of that be- 
loved spot, and the days of her past, but never to be 
forgotten happiness, rushed upon her imagination, and 
immediately gave a turn to her thoughts; her feelings 
seemed to lose their rigidness, and she burst into 
tears. 

These timely drops appeared to sooth her. We 
were in Kensington Gardens, so 1 led her to a seat, 
and allowed her to weep on without interruption. 
Indeed I thanked Heaven for these tears, for they 
seemed as if they had cooled her brain. 

But what feelings of intense anxiety filled my own 
heart! I trembled at the responsibility I had brought 
upon myself. I felt that I was placed in a most ex- 
traordinary situation ; still when I turned my eyes 
upon the poor lovely interesting creature who sat be- 


THE YOUNG PRIM A DONNA. 


107 


side me, and when I remembered, that in this world 
I was her only stay, I at once said, “ Rosalie, be 
comforted; in every turn of this eventful world, I am 
yours — I will follow you through life, till death.” 

“ Then may Heaven’s will be done!” she cried, with 
such a rapturous expression of countenance, methinks 
I see it now! — There are looks and words which 
stamp themselves upon the heart, which are never 
never to be forgotten ; she continued, “ With you at 
my side, my constant, best of friends, I will no longer 
shrink from my appointed trial — I will walk firmly 
through the path, although thorns may be beneath 
my feet. I can now say, the Almightly has never for- 
saken me, and that he has sent a blessing and a solace 
in you, beloved Mr. Leslie, which plainly indicates 
that His hand is near me — that His eye is upon me; 
and I have the soothing inward feeling of hope, that 
through His grace my heavy task will not be length- 
ened— that there is a rest for me at hand, and that 
when that blessed time arrives, Rosalie’s grave will 
be an honoured one — a spot which her friends may 
visit with satisfaction — though, perhaps, mingled with 
sadness; they will remember that the poor girl sunk 
into her early resting place with a name untarnished 
— that through all her trials, she disgraced not the 
kindness of those who cherished her— who made her 
childhood so blessed. Oh ! in all my misery, I have 
moments of exquisite enjoyment; moments when I am 
living in a world of my own ; and the most soothing 
fabric of my imagination that I then build, is, to fancy 
myself dead and buried — in that one spot you know, 
Mr. Leslie,” she exclaimed quickly and anxiously ; 
“then I imagine the forms of those I love bending 
over the simple stone their affection has raised to my 
memory; I hear them pronounce my name, ‘ Rosalie,’ 
they say — * poor Rosalie !’ I see a tear fall from the 
soft eye of my adored Gertrude, and that tear seems 
really to drop upon my heart, and to cool one burn- 
ing spot which ever tortures me — oh ! that tear,” she 
repeated, placing her hand upon her eyes, “ how 
often I try to see it — it is the only happiness I have.” 


108 


THE YOUNG PRIM A DONNA. 


I endeavoured to check her, for she was getting 
into that rambling, unconnected manner of talking, 
which often preceded any great agitation. It was not 
only painful for me to hear, but I knew it was injuri- 
ous to allow her to indulge in such exciting fancies. 

It is, perhaps, impossible for my readers to form an 
adequate conception of the affecting nature of the 
scene I have just described. The voice of the poor 
girl was pathos itself, the melody of her tones so ex- 
quisite, that the wild language which flowed from her 
lips seemed like poetic inspiration, so truly was every 
word mellowed by the sound of the harmonious voice 
by which they were pronounced. 

And then to look upon her from whom they pro- 
ceeded — that angel in human form ! but I must check 
this rhapsody. It will be considered as the doting 
raving of an old man! 

My only plan now was to rouse her, by telling her 
that the time was almost exhausted, and that Gabri- 
elli would be angry if she was not at home at the ap- 
pointed hour. 

She obeyed me passively, but was silent, during 
the rest of the walk. I promised when I left her, to 
be with her early the next morning. 




CHAPTER XVI. 

Gabrielli happened to be just leaving the house, as 
1 turned to quit it, and, finding that he was proceed- 
ing towards the Haymarket, I requested to be al- 
lowed to walk that way with him, as I had much to 
say. 

I told him without reserve, how alarmed I was 
about Rosalie, and warned him, in the most emphatic 
terms, against doing any thing that might agitate her; 
I begged him to indulge and sooth her, and to contra- 
dict her as little as possible. 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


109 


I saw his countenance evince impatience but I 
heeded it not, and went on to mention the request 
which Rosalie had just urged, that I might attend 
her to the theatre, and my willingness to comply 
with it. 

He shrugged up his shoulders, and I am well aware 
many an imprecation died away upon his lips; how- 
ever, I believe he had at last become convinced that 
my alarm was not unfounded, and that there was in- 
deed but one means of accomplishing his own views 
with regard to Rosalie, which was to have recourse 
to mildness and persuasive kindness. He had dis- 
covered that she possessed a spirit which would not 
bend to tyranny, although her heart might break in 
the <j|Fort. The man, therefore, gave a scowling, re- 
luctant acquiescence, and we parted with no very 
amicable feeling on either side; indeed, I considered 
him almost in the light of a common assassin; for had 
• he not already murdered the peace of mind of my 
child, while at the same time he was sacrificing her 
life? 

This evening I had a long conversation with Ar- 
turo ; the poor youth was looking wretchedly ill, and 
there was a degree of languor over his whole appear- 
ance, that was very striking. His large black eyes 
had lost their brilliant fire, even his crisp curling locks 
seemed to have changed their nature, and appeared 
to hang mournfully round his countenance. When I 
looked at him, as he stood leaning against the mantel- 
piece, his fine manly form assuming a posture of dejec- 
tion, I could not help inwardly ejaculating, “ Here is 
another instance of a blighted heart, a living specimen 
of the ravages which the canker worm of care pro- 
duces in the human frame.” 

Although the youth had been nurtured in goodness 
and virtue in an humble sphere, still it was under the 
warm sky of an Italian climate, where every feeling 
of the heart is heated by its intensity. 

The old relation, with whom he had lived from his 
infancy, kept him much aloof from others of his own 
age; he lived in strict seclusion; his poverty had 

VOL. i. — 10 


no 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


placed a barrier between him and the haunts of man, 
therefore, until his little savings enabled him to give 
Arturo a few advantages, to improve the cultivation 
of his natural musical genius, the young man’s ac- 
quaintance with others was very limited. 

At length he fell into the society of Rosalie. His 
tastes seemed formed by her alone — immediately she 
became the beau-ideal of that perfection, sought by 
his youthful imagination — his night and day dream of 
grace and beauty — he would never cast his eyes else- 
where to seek for greater charms. His admiration 
rapidly grew into love, which became too soon the 
sole hope of his existence. 

Through the course of a long life I have witnessed 
many degrees of strong attachment ; but that which 
glowed with such fervour in the breast of Afturo, 
was of the most absorbing character; it was particu- 
larly affecting to me, for from what I knew of its 
hopelessness, I felt that the end must be a tragedy. 

To some hearts there are strokes of calamity, which 
scathe and scorch the soul, penetrate to the vftal seat 
of happiness, and blast it, so that it will never again 
put forth bud or blossom. 

And such, I was convinced, would be the case with 
Arturo. 

My heart bled for him, and — perhaps I may be 
blamed for indiscretion — but for the moment to sooth 
his trouble, I told him of our intention of being in 
Kensington Gardens the next morning ; and that if he 
chose it, he might meet us there. 

Had I conferred upon him a principality, his grati- 
tude could not have been more unbounded. With his 
own natural enthusiasm, he was in an instant at mv 
feet — on his knees, pouring forth every demonstration 
of thankfulness, covering my withered hand with fer- 
vent kisses. 

All this exuberance in him did not appear in the 
least overstrained, or unnatural; it was so entirely in 
character with his usual ardent manner of expressing 
every emotion which excited him. 

Poor fellow! as he knelt before me, and I stroked 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


Ill 


the soft, curls, which grew in such beautiful luxuriance 
on his finely formed head, with the rapidity of thought, 
his future career appeared before me, and how little 
of happiness mingled in the prospect ! 

How could any one, with such acuteness of feeling 
as he possessed, find peace on the turbulent waves of 
this fitful disappointing world! 

He left me elated, and comparatively happy. He 
went to dream of love — full of the bright hope of the 
morrow, and I remained to muse over the uncertainty 
and misery which often, with even more than usual 
pertinacity, seem to persue the most excellent — the 
most highly gifted ! 

But it was not for me, a short-sighted mortal, to 
arraign the works of Providence. 1 knew that there 
was wisdom in every act of Providence. Man, in this 
mortal state, is not yet fit for happiness. He is not 
created for perpetual spring and cloudless skies, bilt 
by the wintry storm, is called upon to exert himself 
to felicity hereafter. 




CHAPTER XVII. 

The next morning dawned brightly. The sun was 
shining with splendour, the air, even through a Lon- 
don atmosphere, was balmy and refreshing. At a 
very early hour I was at Rosalie’s door and I found 
her, quite ready, and equipped to join me. 

Her appearance agreeably surprised me ; for she 
was very prettily dressed in a new Leghorn bonnet, 
which I thought became her much, and a handsome 
silk cloak trimmed with lace. The fact was, kind 
Lady Belmont had sent a sum of money for me to lay 
out for her, and I had given a portion of it to Myrtilla, 
to spend for her in necessary dress. I thought it 
would keep the woman in good temper thus to employ 
her, I also considered that she would execute this 
commission better than either myself or Rosalie ; and 


112 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


certainly here she had not failed. Every thing was 
in good taste ; and I looked at my dear protegee with 
delight, for I am not one of those, who think that dress 
cannot improve beauty. I like to see a well arranged 
toilette ; it is lady-like, besides being becoming ; — but 
to go on with my story, for I have made a most old 
womanly digression. 

We set off upon our walk. I found that Rosalie 
had something to purchase at a music shop in Bond 
Street, therefore we bent our steps towards that quarter 
of the town, previous to proceeding to Kensington 
Gardens. During our way thither I had much to tell 
her, which I knew would give her pleasure. I informed 
her of Gabrielli’s acquiescence in my wish of accom- 
panying her on the nights of her performance at the 
Opera house. 

This intelligence did, indeed, give her joy; she had 
scarcely words to express her gratitude and satisfac- 
tion. I then told her who was waiting, I made no 
doubt, with the utmost impatience for us, in Kinsing- 
ton Gardens. 

^This was truly delightful news, for although, to her 
pure mind, the warm feelings of his heart did not meet 
w T ith the same return, still vshe loved Arturo affection- 
ately — gratefully; his idea was connected with the 
only moments of any thing like happiness, she had 
passed in Italy. 

In the present nervous state of her spirits, extremes 
either of joy or sorrow, appeared to be too much for her, 
and I almost regretted I had said so much, when I 
looked at her flushed cheek and fearfully brilliant eye, 
and heard the hurried manner in which she spoke, 
and the wild laugh that ever and anon, broke from 
her. 

As I gazed upon her countenance, 1 could not help 
thinking how splendidly beautiful she looked. Her 
veil was thrown back, and her open bonnet displayed, 
to full perfection, her lovely face. 

As we went up St. James’ Street, she was talking 
rapidly, and with much animation. We passed 
several clubs, and from one of them issued several 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


113 


young men. Although it was at that time nearly eight 
o’clock, to judge by their elaborate evening dress, and 
the pale worn-out expression of their countenances, 
it was evident their night had but just ended. How- 
ever, though their appearance bore the traces of hours 
spent in the dissipation of the gaming table, their spirits 
were not exhausted, for they were laughing and talk- 
ing, as they proceeded, (I concluded) to their several 
places of abode, there, in feverish sleep to steal a few 
hours from the day, in order to recruit their enervated 
frames, for the orgies of the ensuing night. 

They came towards us ; but Rosalie, engrossed 
by the feelings which filled her mind, heeded them 
not — indeed, I believe she did not even see them. 

The young men approached, and 1 perceived that* 
with one accord, they turned their eyes upon this un- 
expected apparition, of a well-dressed and respectable 
female, at such an hour, walking in these precincts. 
Rude and fixed was their gaze, and the nearer view 
they gained of my lovely companion, the more intense 
were the looks of admiration with which they regard- 
ed her. 

But one of the party seemed to be more than mete-, 
ly casually moved by the sight of Rosalie. He abso- 
lutely gave a start of surprise, and, instead of proceed- 
ing with his companions, stood motionless, immedi- 
ately before us, so that he completely obstructed our 
passage. 

Then, for the first time, Rosalie’s eyes fell upon him, 
but it did not appear that in any way she recognized 
him. He, however, seemed fascinated to the spot. 
My anger began to rise at the extreme impertinence 
of his conduct; my looks, I think, plainly indicated 
my feelings, for suddenly, he slightly, but respectfully, 
touched his hat and passed on; curiosity, however, 
inducing me to turn my head, I saw him standing and 
staring after us. 

Rosalie made no remark upon this occurrence; in- 
deed, her pre-occupied mind prevented her taking any 
heed of what had struck me as being somewhat ex- 
traordinary. We proceeded to the gardens without 
10 * 


114 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


meeting with any farther impediment, and there we 
found the happy, impatient Arturo, waiting for us 
with breathless anxiety. 

He held in his hands, as an offering to the lady of 
his love, the most splendid bouquet I had ever beheld, 
consisting of the choicest flowers ; he certainly must 
have been up before day-break, to have procured it, 
and, for which, I could not help thinking, he had 
drained the last sous from his scanty purse. 

My readers may imagine the happiness of this meet- 
ing — all that was to be said on both sides. This, pro- 
bably, was one of the most delightful moments of the 
poor young man’s life, and, in the light thoughtlessness 
of youth, he forgot all his miseries — all the wretchedness 
he had endured. 


“ There was but one beloved face on’ earth. 

And that was shining on him.; he had looked 
Upon it till it would not pass away ; 

He had no breath, no being, but in hers ; 

She was his voice, — he did not speak to her,. 
But trembled on her words ; she was his sight. 
For his eye followed hers, and saw with hers, 
Which coloured all his objects: he had ceased 
To live within himself : she was his life, 

The ocean to the river of his thoughts. 

Which terminated all 1 


His eye kindled with its former brightness; — his coun- 
tenance glowed, and, for a brief space, he looked 
again the happy, heedless youth, whose beauty had 
astonished me on my first arrival at Naples. 

Quickly did the time pass, and loth was I to dis- 
turb such joyful moments; but my watch warned me 
that it was near the hour that Rosalie should return. 
However, to soften the parting to Arturo, I promised 
him, that the pleasure he had this morning enjoyed 
should often be repeated. He was to accompany us 
across the Park, and then we were to part. 

As we were proceeding towards the Cumberland 
gate, we almost came in contact with a regiment of 
the life Guards, which was returning to the barracks 
at Knightsbridge after a field day. 


the young prima donna. 


1J5 


It seemed as if this morning, we were fated to meet 
with adventures. Several officers on horseback, at- 
tracted in the same manner as bees are towards some 
beautiful flower, hovered close to us, to obtain a near- 
er view of my lovely companion and I began to be 
provoked with the dress she wore this day, which, I 
fancied, rendered her attractions more than usually 
conspicuous. 

Amongst these gazers, I most unexpectly beheld 
Lord Henry de Vere. I then recollected he had lately 
obtained a commission in one of the regiments of the 
household cavalry. 

The group of officers having stared at Rosalie as 
long and as fixedly as in decency they could, rode on 
towards the troops, which were now some short dis- 
tance in advance ; but Lord Henry, unsatiated with 
.the sight of the loveliness that had so attracted him, 
turned again to look upon her, and at that moment 
caught my eye. 

He came up to me immediately. “ Mr. Leslie I” 
he exclaimed, “ who could have expected to have 
seen you here, at such a time — and in such company?” 
he whispered, as he leant forward upon his horse, and 
looked significantly at Rosalie, whom, I evidently per- 
ceived, he did not in the least remember. 

I felt annoyed, for I had not wished to have intro- 
duced Rosalie to any of the younger branches of the 
Belmont family, until sanctioned by their parents; 
there was something inwardly that told me I had bet- 
ter notdo so ; I rather dreaded the encounter. 

“ Who, in the name of every thing that is beautiful! 
is she?” again whispered the young Lord. “I am 
perfectly expiring with impatience to know, for I ne- 
ver saw such a lovely creature in the whole course 
of my life !” 

And most truly, at that moment, might Lord Henry 
so express himself, for, on turning my eyes towards 
the young girl, I saw her standing with her large, full, 
bright orbs fixed upon the young man — her colour 
raised to the brightest carnation— her faultless mouth 
half unclosed, and, as she bent forward, her bosom 


116 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


heaving with surprise, agitation, and tender recogni- 
tion, I thought certainly, I had never seen a living 
spectacle of any thing so exquisitely bewitching! 

I had now no other course to pursue, but at once 
to say — “Do you not remember Rosalie?” in an in- 
stant he had vaulted from his horse, the bridle of which 
he threw towards me, and, in another second, I saw 
him clasping her in his arms, with all the tender wel- 
come of a most affectionate brother; and Rosalie, with 
tears streaming from her eyes, suffered, indeed returned, 
the caresses of this early friend, and play-fellow of her 
childhood. 

But, I perceived, that after this first burst of sur- 
prised emotion was over — when Lord Henry again 
looked upon the lovely creature he had so unceremo- 
niously accosted — he began to feel the difference 
which time had made in her age, appearance, and 
situation. 

The colour rose to his cheeks as he turned towards 
her, and said, in a more constrained manner — “ Rosa- 
lie, you must forgive my bluntness. I ought, per- 
haps, to apologize; — but, good heavens !” he exclaim- 
ed, relapsing into the former freedom of past days, 
“ when I heard your name, 1 thought only of my 
coal-black Rose — my little favourite and play-fellow 
of the white ’Cottage. You are grown so tall ! Who 
could have imagined that the little, short, sallow girl, 
could ever be such as you now are ! Beautiful Rosa- 
lie! — no longer, indeed, the coal-black Rose, but the 
most perfect — the most lovely of blush roses !” and 
he gazed upon her with unfeigned admiration, whilst 
she blushed, but from pleasure — not from shame ! 

And where was the young Italian all this time? I 
actually started when I turned from the pleasing scene 
I have been describing, and saw him standing with 
his eyes also fixed upon it, but with all the fiercest 
passions of his soul, gleaming in the expression of his 
now darkened countenance. He stood with his hand 
pressed upon his heart, in an attitude which seemed 
in unison with his whole bearing, and I could have 
imagined that he was feeling for a stiletto, in the true 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


117 


Italian style, which he would fain have plunged into 
the heart of the presumptuous youth, who dared thus 
to approach the idol of his soul. 

It was a striking spectacle; and the extraordinary 
contrast, presented by the two youths, was worthy 
the pencil of an artist. They were both in their sepa- 
rate aspects, rare specimens of the different charac- 
teristics of the two countries. The dark fierce beauty 
of the Italian, contrasted strangely with the slender, 
tall, graceful, aristocratic looking Englishman, whose 
soft blue eyes, as they rested upon Rosalie — his clear 
fair forehead, shaded by auburn locks, told of a life of 
hitherto unprovoked passions — of an existence care- 
fully nurtured in the lap of indulgence and luxury. 
Tempered by the favoured clime in which he had 
drawn his first breath, his feelings, though warm, still 
were not as yet flaming with the raging fire which 
blazed in the very soul of Arturo, whose passions were 
like the ardent sun, beneath which he had existed ever 
since his birth. 

I kept my eye stedfastly fixed upon him, and soon 
saw that the respect, and even the degree of awe 
which he felt towards me, alone restrained him. I 
believe otherwise, he would have rushed forward to 
chastise the daring intruder, who had presumed thus 
familiarly to address Rosalie. But he saw that I 
sanctioned his advances, and the pleasure which spar- 
kled in her eye evinced, to his jealous sight, that the 
joy she felt also was extreme. 

I watched him as he stood for some moments irre- 
solute — in a state of the greatest agitation. At last I 
saw a large tear swell in his eye, as with a softened 
look he gazed on Rosalie; but in another instant a 
frown succeeded, and w'ith an impetuous gesture, he 
flung the flowers he held in his hand, upon the ground, 
and darting off in an opposite direction, unperceived, 
except by me, was soon out of sight. 

I did not seek to detain him, for what good could 
result from bringing these two impetuous youths in 
contact with each other! All I had to do was to pick 
up the unoffending bouquet, the loss of which I knew 


118 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


Rosalie would deplore, and comfort myself by the de- 
termination of afterwards finding Arturo, and by ex- 
plaining to him who Lord Henry was, endeavour to 
calm his tortured mind. 

Lord Henry seemed in no haste to leave us. With 
the bridle of his charger under his arm, he walked 
with us for some distance, and, indeed, it was only 
when I told him that he really must go, that he reluc- 
tantly took his departure; not, however, before he had 
showered every kind of question upon Rosalie — where 
she was to be found? when he might hope to see her 
again? and all sorts of inquiries, which might lead to 
bring about another meeting. 

She knew not what to say. Her soul revolted 
against the idea of receiving him at her wretched and 
disreputable home. I endeavoured to come to her 
relief, by telling him that she was not mistress of her 
own actions, that Gabrielli allowed no visiters — that 
when Lady Belmont arrived, I hoped to be able to 
bring her to see them. He then asked when she was 
to make her first appearance, and at this question, 
Po„or Rosalie began to weep; it recalled to her mind 
every circumstance which was to her most painful — 
her degraded position ! and then Lord Henry was all 
sorrow, all penitence, for having said any thing 
that could have caused her tears to flow. In short, 
this interview I foresaw would much distress Rosa- 
lie, and I resolved, at length, to terminate it by call- 
ing a coach, and putting her into it; thus we got rid 
of our importunate, though affectionate young friend. 




CHAPTER XVIII. 

The young man who had so unceremoniously stared 
at Rosalie in the street, proved to be the identical Sir 
Francis Somerville, who has already appeared before 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


119 


my readers, as one of the dramatis persona; of my 
tale, and who was so struck and captivated by the beau- 
ty of a young girl whom he accidentally met on the Es- 
planade*at Brighton. This girl, I need scarcely add,' 
was no other than our Rosalie. Gabrielli had landed at 
that port, on his way from Italy, and the illness of his 
wife detained them there for some days. The vivid 
impression which Rosalie’s loveliness had. made upon 
the two young men, was easily detected by the ex- 
perienced eye of Myrtilla, who, on advancing to meet 
her, observed the whole of the little scene occasioned 
by the dispersion of the music which Rosalie held in 
her hand, and perceived that the subsequent agitation 
of our heroine seemed to strengthen the fascination 
which her appearance had wrought upon their senses. 

Myrtilla communicated all this to Gabrielli; and it 
had so chanced that in the morning he also, whilst 
standing in a shop, had recognised the person of Lord 
Fitz-Ernest, who was passing at the time. 

The Italian had always peculiarly dreaded the in- 
terference of this young man. There was something 
in his dignified demeanour, which awed the ruffian. 
He, therefore, immediately resolved to lose no time 
in leaving Brighton, in as private a manner as possi- 
ble, in order to avoid any meeting. Thus it was, that 
the pursuit of the two young men had been so com- 
pletely baffled. However, the impression Rosalie had 
made upon the imagination of Sir Francis was so du- 
rable, that even after a considerable lapse of time, 
when he met her in St. James’s Street, his senses ex- 
hausted and fatigued by the past vigils of the night — 
his head confused by the copious draughts of iced 
champagne, to which he had constantly flown for 
support, under all the harassing chances of the hazard 
table — still he recognised her in a moment, and 
seemed at once sobered and recalled to himself, by the 
re-appearance of the vision, which had so long haunted 
his fancy. 

Had it not been for his evening dress, he would no 
doubt have retraced his steps and followed her — so in- 
tensely anxious was he to discover who, and what she 


120 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


was. I suppose my silver locks, and sable suit ap- 
peared to give a warrant to her respectability — to say 
nothing of a ray of innate purity which seemed to 
emanate from the expression of her sweet •counte- 
nance. But still, in his own mind, he felt certain that 
there was some mystery attached to her, which, to 
fathom, he would at that moment have staked a great 
deal; but at present he had no other course to pursue, 
but to return to his bachelor home in Hill Street, and 
there endeavour to recruit his feverish frame by sleep 
and rest. 

It suggested itself to him, during the operation of 
undressing, that his servant, who was an old and well 
tried assistant in all his pleasures, might be able to 
help him in his present dilemma. But no — how could 
he? there was not the slightest clue whatever to the 
discovery. He must even leave it to chance — to his 
usual lucky stars. He would watch at the club door 
every day, at the same hour in which he had met the 
beauteous unknown, as long as the season lasted; on 
that point he was quite determined, but whilst rumi- 
nating upon this, as well as upon many other plans, 
equally absurd, he fell fast asleep, dreaming, of course, 
of the lovely form which had thus disturbed his peace 
of mind, although, in his visions, she might appear to 
him sometimes perchance with my clerical shovel-hat 
upon her head. 

It so happened, that night, there was a state ball at 
St. James’s Palace, and although our Baronet never 
went to such amusements, if he could possibly avoid 
them, his clubs having far greater charms for him, 
he was obliged to attend the command of his so- 
vereign, and there he met the young Lord Henry de 
Vere. 

Sir Francis was intimately acquainted with the Bel- 
mont family; indeed, he was very nearly connected 
with it ; and though, from his dissipated habits, the 
Marquis and Marchioness had hoped their sons would 
not be thrown much into his society, circumstances 
had frustrated this wish, and the cousins had been a 
great deal together. 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


121 


The two young men were standing rather apart 
from the res of the company, both silent and ab- 
stracted. I believe, from what I have since heard, 
that their thoughts were equally engrossed by the 
same subject. Lord Henry, lam certain, was think- 
ing, as he cast his eyes upon the brilliant beauties that 
floated before him, radiant in dress and diamonds, that 
with all their external advantages, there was not one 
to compare to the splendid loveliness of the interesting 
creature he had seen that morning, and his mind was 
dwelling with dangerous fervour on each lovely fea- 
ture of that bewitching countenance. He blushed — 
yes — more than once, when he remembered how he 
had folded her in his arms — how freely he had pressed 
kiss after kiss upon her cheek. Could he ever dare 
to do so again? Nof he felt that indeed he dared not. 
He had accosted her as the little Rosalie of bygone 
days; but now — he sighed, and there was much of 
bitterness in the sigh, when the conviction — the too 
great certainty — flashed across his mind, that never 
again might he consider her in that light; an inward 
pang, at that moment, suggested to him, that for his 
safety, he ought never to look on her again. 

And Sir Francis — what was the subject of his me- 
ditation, as he stood, moodily, with his arms folded, 
and his brow contracted? 

We had, perhaps, better not endeavour to ascertain 
his inward aspirations. A life of profligacy and self- 
indulgence had probably rendered them less amiable 
than those of the young Lord, who was still fresh and 
uninitiated in the ways of sin. Sir Francis had lived 
a short life of pleasure, and had now almost exhausted 
its resources. Abundance of wealth had hitherto pro- 
cured for him every gratification, but still he was not 
satisfied. 

When we enter a gay and festive assembly, we be- 
hold every appearance of sparkling felicity. Alas! if 
we could look into the hearts of this seemingly joy- 
ous company, how inconsiderable a portion would be 
found truly happy. At the best, the flashes of mirth, 
which burst from the dissipated and careless, are of a 

VOL. i — 11 


122 


THE YOUNG FRIMA DONNA. 


transient and broken kind, interrupted by reflections 
they cannot avoid. But a truce to moralizing. 

The appearance of Rosalie was a new incitement 
to Sir Francis, and, as is always the case, the difficul- 
ties which appeared to surround his farther acquaint- 
ance with her, quickened his anxiety upon the subject. 
At that moment, all his possessions seemed inadequate 
to his present wants. What was the use of youth, 
health, riches, if they could not procure happiness? 
there must be always something wanting to complete 
it. 

The meditations of both the young men were inter- 
rupted by a group of other loungers, who joined them, 
and Sir Francis was thus accosted by one of the par- 
ty : 

“ What is the matter with you to-night, Somer- 
ville? you look completely floored. However, I don't 
wonder at it, for I never saw a man so perfectly 
cleaned out, as you were last night, at Crocky’s. I 
left you the loser of — I dare not say how much, and 
I hear you were there till the middle of the next day. I 
suppose that makes you look so lackadaisical.” 

“ Really,” replied Sir Francis, drawing up his tall 
figure to its utmost height, and looking very stern and 
dignified, “ I cannot imagine what concern you can 
have in my losses ; pray be so good as to leave my 
proceedings alone.” 

“ Come, don’t be in a rage, my good fellow, and I 
will tell you a piece of news which will brighten you 
up. What do you think of my having, by the very 
utmost stroke of good fortune, gained a sight of the 
new prima donna; and, by all that’s divine! she is 
the most beautiful creature my eyes ever looked 
upon.” 

“ Do not torment me, Templeton,” replied Sir Fran- 
cis, half turning away; “I know, pretty well, the 
style of your beauties, with their red cheeks, flaxen 
locks, and staring blue eyes. I suppose she is the fac- 
simile of the fat Columbine who robbed you of your 
heart, last winter.” 

“Well, you need not be so bitter in your remarks 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


123 


upon her; if she did not suit your taste, there were 
many who thought her a devilish fine girl. And I 
have a good mind, just to punish you for your imper- 
tinence towards the pretty Fanny, to give you no far- 
ther information upon the subject of this new star, 
whose brilliancy would, I am certain, dazzle even your 
well practised eye.” 

“ VVell, come, I’ll give you leave to tell me all about 
her,” said Sir Francis, his features now relaxing into 
a smile; “ for I see you are bursting to communicate 
all you know; and, to bribe you to smooth your fea- 
thers, which I see I have ruffled, I will say that, after 
all, Fanny is not so very fat, nor so extremely blowsy, 
but exactly the sort of beauty I could have imagined 
most likely to captivate Augustus Templeton, Esq., 
just caught fresh from the county of Tipperary.” 

The young man would have fain walked fairly off, 
evidently nettled at this ironical speech ; but Sir 
Francis, whose curiosity was now raised, laughingly 
caught him by the arm, and held him fast. After a 
little persuasion and coaxing, he at length restored 
him to good humour, and brought him again upon the 
subject of the prima donna, which appeared to be cer- 
tainly the uppermost idea in his empty head. 

“ Well,” he said, " you know Lafleur makes a mon- 
strous fuss about any one being admitted at the re- 
hearsals, just at this moment, for there are two debu- 
tantes, who he expects will produce a greater sensa- 
tion than ever yet has been made on the English 
boards. One is a man, who is to play the principal 
parts — the other, a girl, whose voice is more than di- 
vine; — something beyond your comprehension, Sir 
Francis.” 

“ Doubtless, I do not pretend to be such an exqui- 
site connoisseur as yourself, Mr. Templeton; but 
pray go on with your story, for I am in haste to be 
off’.” 

“ Well, the other morning, on passing the Opera- 
house, a sort of determination seized upon me that I 
would get in, by hook or by crook. I was refused in 
every possible manner, which only made me the more 


124 


THE VOTING PRIMA DONNA. 


resolved to gain my point. So, at last, I found a man 
I know something of, a kind of understrapper about 
the theatre, and gave him all the money I had in my 
pocket to get me in ; and he smuggled me into a box, 
where I sat behind a curtain, just peeping out, now 
and then, for I dared not, for my life, have been seen. 
For my sins, I had to wait an immense time, while they 
were rehearsing some other opera, and 1 could see 
nothing but the old set — of whom I am heartily sick.” 

“ Come, get on,” said Sir Francis, impatiently, 
“ what a prosy way you have of telling a story.” 

“ I must tell it my own way, or not at all,” replied 
Templeton, pompously; he saw that he had excited 
the curiosity of Somerville, therefore it was his turn 
to give himself airs: so he continued in his own tire- 
some manner ; 

“ At last, the stupid thing was over, and they com- 
menced “ Nina Pazza” the piece in which, 1 believe, 
the new cantatrice is to make her appearance. I sat 
upon tenter hooks, scarcely daring to breathe, lest 
N they should discover me, and drag me out before this 
new divinity appeared; at length she came.” 

“ Well !” exclaimed Sir Francis, and also Lord 
Henry, who had approached, and was listening with 
the most earnest attention. 

“ At first, I was disappointed ; I hardly thought 
her so very beautiful, for she was as pale as a marble 
statue; but the more I looked at her, the more she 
seemed to kindle into life, and the lovelier she became; 
such eyes, Somerville! — certainly not like my poor 
Fanny’s ; they w j ere dark and large, with an expression 
in them which thrilled through every nerve in my sys- 
tem — it was really like a shock of electricity. After 
she had sung some time, with a voice like that of a 
syren, her colour began to rise, and no tint of any 
rose that ever grew, could excel the beauty of its 
hue.” 

“And her figure,” demanded Somerville, “is she 
tall or short ?” 

“ Rather tall and slender, but gracefulness itself.” 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


125 


“And her name? for I forget it, although it has 
been announced.” 

“ They call her the Signora Rosalia Gabrielli ; but 
I can tell you that even from the cursory view I had of 
the girl, it seems to me that she will be no easy con- 
quest, Master Somerville ; and my friend who got me 
in, told me that she is an odd young lady, distant and 
repulsive to the utmost pitch ; she refuses to open her 
lips, except to sing ; and beautiful as she is, no one 
dares to speak to her; there is a flash in her eye 
which keeps every one aloof. However, 1 think she 
may be a sly one, for I saw her cast les yeux clouz 
upon that handsome young fellow who sings with her; 
indeed they seemed to act the lovers, con amore. I'll 
tell you what, we shall all die of envy of this Vivaldi, 
who is as splendid a personification of beauty as the 
girl; all the women’s heads in London will be turned 
by him ; and men with light hair will have no 
chance,” here he passed his fingers through his own 
locks, which grew in profusion, but were of that co- 
lour which partakes of the suspicious hue of ginger; 
“ however, I have found out a mode of getting intro- 
duced to her, for I used to know in Italy the sister of 
this very Gabrielli. She was then a chorus-singer at 
San Carlos, but is now living with her brother, as a 
kind of companion or chaperone to the beauty; and you 
will see, if I am not soon her favoured admirer. But 
what, in the name of all that is wonderful is the mat- 
ter with you, De Vere ; you look so fierce and so 
much offended! Are you already jealous, even be- 
fore you have seen the fair one?” 

“ Pardon me,” replied Lord Henry, most haughtily, 
fire flashing from his eyes, “ there you are in error. 

I have known the young lady, with whose name you 
have taken such gross liberties, from her childhood; 
she was educated with my sisters; and were it not for 
the misfortune of her mother having married Gabriel- 
li, she would not have been thus exposed to insult ; as 
it is, her position is not such as to level her to the 
grade of other women of her hated profession; there- 
fore, Mr. Templeton, I must insist, that, at least, be- 


126 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


fore me, you will henceforth use more discretion when 
you name the Signora Rosalia, or I, as the friend of 
her youth, shall consider myself bound to resent the 
outrage;” with these words, he walked away, and 
soon disappeared amidst the throng, leaving the others 
surprised by this sudden burst of anger. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

When Lord Henry left the brilliant assembly, his 
heart was filled with a crowd of mixed feelings, 
which were both painful and undefinable. He was 
almost inclined to play the woman, and weep, when 
he thought of the poor girl, as she had been in past 
days, and contrasted her present degraded, unhappy 
condition, with the blissful period, when she was the 
cherished friend of his sweet sister Gertrude, the in- 
dulged, the favoured pet of the whole of his excellent 
and virtuous family. He recollected her in the joy- 
ful thoughtless days of their childhood, and her mer- 
ry laugh seemed to ring upon his ears; the scenes so 
loved of his own dear home at Belmont — all appeared 
to rise before his imagination, and his affectionate 
young heart was heavy. 

As he slowly bent his steps towards Knightsbridge, 
(for the night was so lovely, that he dismissed his 
cab,) thought after thought occurred to his fancy, but 
they all turned to one point — it was the fair image of 
Rosalie which haunted him; and how his heart smote 
him, when he recollected that he, who would now 
have laid down his life to serve her, had often caused 
her tears to flow; when in past days with his mis- 
chievous tricks — his tormenting antics, her enduring 
patience had been sometimes overtaxed, and then the 
sweet forgiving manner, with which she ever re- 
ceived his overtures of reconciliation. “ Poor beau- 
tiful Rosalie!” was his inward sigh; “and now she 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


127 


is wretched, forced to pursue a course which is hate- 
ful to her — ill-treated — exposed to insult continually.” 

His blood boiled with indignation, when he remem- 
bered the words of Templeton, and more than once 
did he turn, with the intention of retracing his steps, 
to execute summary vengeance upon the contemptible 
wretch, who had in such a manner dared to name her. 

The loveliness of her appearance had made a vivid 
impression upon the mind of Lord Henry and most 
certainly much increased every feeling of interest 
which already had found a place in his heart; and 
torturing — maddening was it to hear her pure name 
bandied by a profligate, and ranked amongst those 
unfortunates who had forfeited all claim to respecta- 
bility. To think that the chosen friend of his sister 
was henceforth to be a mark, at which the base de- 
signs of licentiousness, were to be levelled ! 

All this I heard from himself afterwards, and with 
the frank ingeniousness of his nature, he described to 
me the sensations of indignation and sorrow that filled 
his generous heart. 

He was with me early the next day, and forced me 
to give him a long detail, of every circumstance con- 
cerning Rosalie. 

On the subject of Arturo he was peculiarly curious, 
and I, with my usual openness, told him the story of 
his hopeless love; but after I had been thus commu- 
nicative, I began to think, I might just as well have 
been less candid ; for there was a kind of flash of sa- 
tisfaction, which passed over the countenance of my 
attentive listener, when I declared my conviction, 
that Rosalie’s heart was untouched, which rather dis- 
turbed me, and after this dearboy had left me, 1 felt un- 
comfortable. I wished we had not met him in the park, 
thus prematurely introducing that fascinating Rosalie 
to a youth so full of the ardour of his age. I had 
hoped to delay all interviews with her, till Lord and 
Lady Belmont were in London to sanction my pro- 
ceedings. 

It seemed to me that I was accumulating troubles 
for myself, as well as others, and I was vexed and 


128 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


perplexed. Then I began to think of poor Arturo, 
who had quitted us in so abrubt and disconsolate a 
manner. I was uneasy at his non-appearance. Those 
young people were certainly fated to be the torments of 
my life! 1 had not seen Rosalie that morning, for she 
was particularly engaged at home, with many details 
all concerning her appearance on the Saturday week 
following. 

I grew very fidgetty towards the afternoon, about 
the poor Italian youth, and at length determined to 
seek him at his own lodgings. They were in Greek 
Street, Soho, and thither I directed my steps. 

I found that he lived over a music shop, and on 
reaching it, had to make my way up to the very top 
of the house, before I arrived at the door of his apart- 
ment. I knocked, but received no answer — I knocked 
again — all was silent. I then thought he must be out, 
and was turning away, when it occurred to me to try 
the handle, and at least ascertain if the door were 
locked. It opened immediately, and I entered the 
miserably furnished room. In one corner stood a bed, 
and on casting my eyes towards it, I saw Arturo 
lying upon it in a deep sleep. I approached. He 
was dressed, and from the position he had taken, it 
appeared to me, that he had thrown himself down 
overcome by fatigue, and in that manner sleep had 
overtaken him. His countenance was dreadfully pale, 
and even then exhibited symptoms of grief. I glanced 
round the apartment ; every thing about it looked de- 
solate and miserable, save the flowers, which it was 
his delight to collect, for the purpose of being able to 
send a bouquet occasionally to Rosalie, and upon 
which 1 have heard, he spent almost every shilling he 
possessed. I recognised a bird that had formerly be- 
longed to Rosalie, but which she was not allowed to 
bring from Naples. Arturo had begged to have it, 
and carefully had he treasured it. 

I felt very sad as I cast my eyes around, and 
thought of the many melancholy hours the poor de- 
voted youth must spend in loneliness and sorrow. I 
seated myself by the side of his bed, determining there 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


129 


to watch for the moment of his awakening, for I knew 
that my presence would afford him comfort. 

1 had not long to wait; after two or three restless 
movements, with a deep sigh, he opened his large 
eyes, and fixed them with a kind of bewildered gaze 
upon my countenance. He evidently, at first, thought 
my appearance was one of the confused dreams 
which had been haunting his imagination, but by de- 
grees his senses became more clear, and starting up, 
he siezed my hand, exclaiming, “ Oh caro mio amico, 
e siete dunque venuto a consolarmiV’* 

Poor fellow! I soon discovered what I had feared. 
The occurrence of the preceding day had almost dis- 
tracted him, and to my consternation, I found that 
food had not passed his lips, for more than four-and- 
twenty hours. There was to be a rehearsal that af- 
ternoon, and I feared that he had not strength to 
make his appearance. 

My first step was to procure him some nourish- 
ment, and for that purpose, I immediately went down 
stairs, to make interest with any servant I might find, 
to bring him some breakfast. This accomplished, I 
told him I would come to him again, in the course of 
an hour, which I did, and had the satisfaction of see- 
ing him, in all respects, much better. 

I took that opportunity of gently admonishing him, 
upon the subject of his impetuosity I pointed out to 
him, how much he must have hurt Rosalie’s feelings, 
by leaving her so abruptly, and added that had she 
seen him cast her bouquet so unkindly on the ground, 
she would have been indeed distressed, and in the pre- 
sent nervous state of her spirits, those who loved her, 
ought to strive to save her from all unnecessary agi- 
tation. 

I then proceeded to enforce upon him, that Lord 
Henry was the friend of her childhood; she had 
grown up with him as a sister, and with a sister’s de- 
gree of affection she regarded him. I endeavoured to 
extract from him a promise, that in future he would 


* Oh my dear friend, are you then come to console me? 


130 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


try to govern his ill-placed sensibility. He shook his 
head doubtingly. 

“ My friend, my father,” he said, with a mournful 
pathos in his voice, which went to my soul, “ if you 
could only imagine the raging fire which burns in my 
heart, you would then be able to understand what 
fuel to the flames was the sight of her, whom I so 
fervently adore, in the arms of another, and she, great 
God ! enduring the caress, and looking upon him with 
eyes beaming with tenderness, such as she never be- 
stowed, on her poor devoted — idolizing slave Arturo. 
Shall I ever cease to remember, without torture, the 
joy which illumined her whole countenance loh signor, 
caro signor, through the long and weary night, whilst 
with disordered steps, I paced the narrow precincts of 
this apartment, that look of hers, and the triumphant 
happy aspect of the audacious youth, who dared thus 
to press her to his heart, was ever before my imagi- 
nation ; it has assumed the form of a vision, which 
seemed to follow me — to mock at me.” 

All this was uttered by Arturo, wfith a tone of 
voice, a countenance and gesture, that rendered the 
words most emphatic. I trembled as I listened to 
him. Fierce indeed, were the passions which blazed 
in his nature, and to what might they not lead! Shud- 
dering, I turned my mind from contemplating horrors 
that suggested themselves to my fancy. 

I felt that I had little power to calm his irritated 
mind, but I endeavoured to sooth him, by those only 
means, which I knew were most likely to soften the 
intensity of his present feelings. 

In a degree I succeeded, and we walked forth to- 
gether towards the Haymarket, where there was to 
be a rehearsal, and where we should also meet Ro- 
salie. 

****** 

People talk of the anxieties — perplexities and re* 
sponsibilities caused by the possession of a large 
family. Truly can I enter into their feelings ! And 
I, an old bachelor, who might have passed through 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


131 


life with that degree of negative happiness which be- 
longs to the state, had brought upon my foolish self, 
trammels and troubles, as exciting and painful to 
my mind, as if I had been the father of a dozen chil- 
dren. 

But these young people had so completely identified 
themselves with my nature — my whole heart, and 
soul were so entirely given up to their cause, that 
now there was no retreat for me. I must continue 
the course that I had commenced, and although, cer- 
tainly, the future looked dark and gloomy, and for- 
boding fears often caused my heart to sink, still I felt 
so deeply involved in their interests, and my affections 
so warmly engrossed their welfare, that truly was I 
convinced, their destiny was my own fate. 




CHAPTER XX. 

The Belmont family had arrived in Piccadilly. 
This I learnt in a little note from dear Lady Gertrude, 
begging me at the same time to come to her immedi- 
ately. Most happy was I to obey the summons, and 
I found her, as usual, all kindness and affection, 
evincing the pleasure which she really seemed to feel, 
in welcoming again, her old and devoted friend. 

I soon discovered that she hrad much impatience, 
and curiosity upon the subject of Rosalie, for she had 
heard from Lord Henry that she was in London, and 
was full of anxiety to know when she might see her. 

I told her, that really I dared not give her any hope 
at the present moment. There was so short a time 
intervening before the period when she was to make 
her appearance ; and in the critical state in which I 
considered her nervous system, I said that it would 
be more prudent, and even more kind, not to add to it 
by any fresh excitement. 


132 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


Lady Gertrude was grieved and disappointed. “ I 
do so long to see my darling little Rosalie,” she said; 
“ but by the by, I hear she is no longer to be so 
named ; — indeed, Mr. Leslie, my womanly curiosity 
is excited, and even, if possible, adds to the great 
desire I have to meet her again. I never heard any 
thing like the glowing description Henry has given 
me of her beauty; and you know, that much as we 
loved Rosalie, we never thought her so very pretty. 
Her eyes certainly were always splendid ! and my 
brother tells me, she is tall — how incomprehensible 
that appears ! My idea of her is the remembrance of 
a dear little dark fairy, who used, in spite of every 
thing, to bewitch us all — old and young, by her sweet- 
ness — her cleverness, and indescribable fascinations ; 

I feel that she is a different person. I almost regret 
this very great change, for it now seems that I shall 
have to make her acquaintance over again — so totally 
must she be altered.” 

I reminded Lady Gertrude that if she had only 
chosen to believe me, she would long ago have been 
reconciled to this alteration; but, I added laughing, 
“ I am sure you all fancy I look upon those I love 
through a magnifying glass, and that even their size 
I exaggerate.” 

“ Henry is very angry,” she continued, “ that you 
will not allow him to have another sight of her, and 
he talks a great deal about a handsome young Italian, 
who, he says, is in love with Rosalie; — now do pray 
tell me all about it, dear, good Mr. Leslie, for you 
know how interested I am, in all that concerns her.” 
I did so. I gave her a minute detail of poor Arturo’s 
feelings; and warmly — with intense interest, did she 
enter into the whole of the perplexing affair. 

“ I wish I was married,” exclaimed this charming 
creature, “ then I should feel at liberty to take some 
decided step with regard to this poor girl; as I am 
now situated, mamma has scruples upon the subject, 
and, of course, I must respect them — but still, something 
must be done — and indeed, dear mamma is as anx- 
ious as I am, that what she now endures, may be 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


133 

ameliorated — but I wish to s$ve her, if possible, from 
the hands of those dreadful people into whose power 
she has fallen.” 

Dear young lady! how my heart responded to all 
she said! But still I repeated that at this moment no- 
thing could be done, and that I thought the kindest 
plan was to keep her in ignorance for the present, of 
the near vicinity of those she loved so well. How- 
ever, Lady Gertrude was not thus to be satisfied, and 
at length it was arranged that Mademoiselle Kramer 
should go to Rosalie. She might be supposed to have 
preceded the family to London, and to her, Lady 
Gertrude could entrust the charge of discovering all 
her little wants — what might, at least, contribute to 
her personal comfort. With the delicate foresight of 
her sex, she imagined a thousand little things it would 
please the poor girl to possess, and with which she 
could so easily supply her, and then, the wretched 
mother — to her also she might be of some use. 

Sweet, excellent girl ! I inwardly prayed that 
every blessing might be multiplied to her; for her 
kindness to the unhappy Rosalie was not a mere emo- 
tion — a glow kindling and fading in a moment; it was 
a steady principle, displaying itself in tender assiduity, 
in real and decided acts of friendship. 

Lady Gertrude then told me of a circumstance 
which afforded me the greatest delight. It was, that 
every thing was now arranged for the marriage of 
Fitz-Ernest with Lady Constance. This was, indeed, 
joyful intelligence, and I had an opportunity, in a few 
moments, of making my congratulations personally to 
the bridegroom elect ; for having heard that I was 
with his sister, he hastened, with his usual warmth 
and affection to meet me. 

My felicitations, upon the subject of his marriage, 
were heartfelt and enthusiastic. He seemed gratified 
by them; but I who had become a regular “Paul 
Pry” into the feelings of others, imagined (I hoped 
then it was only fancy) that he looked almost too 
calm upon the occasion. 1 could not perceive any of 
the little confusion — the agitation of the ardent lover, 

VOL. i . — 12 


134 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


and I began to turn it ih my busy brain, that, perhaps, 
he had been talked into this marriage, and that pro- 
bably, although he admired the excellence and amia- 
bility of the young lady, passionate love was still to 
come. His feelings, at present, certainly were not 
those of great ernpresseihent. 

On asking when the happy event was to take place, 
I found it was not to be for some months, owing to 
Lady Constance being still in deep mourning for her 
mother. 

Lord Fitz-Ernest soon changed the subject, and be- 
gan to ask question after question about Rosalie. 
When could he see her ? was his anxious exclama- 
tion; for it appeared as if Lord Henry’s vivid descrip- 
tion of her charms had excited the curiosity of all the 
family. 

I again entreated that at present she might not be 
disturbed by any thing that would agitate her so 
much, as seeing her friends; and even on the day she 
was to appear, it would be kindness in them not 
to be there; but to that, Lord Fitz-Ernest would not 
listen. 

It made me quite fidgetty to see the degree of anx- 
iety he evinced to meet my beautiful protegee, and, 
foolish old man that I was, I began to feel quite jea- 
lous for Lady Constance, so that my manner became 
perplexed and confused; Fitz-Ernest perceiving this, 
laughed at and bantered me upon the subject; and was 
so unkind as to say, that notwithstanding my gray 
hair, he should begin to suspect I had some motive for 
thus withholding this hidden beauty from other eyes 
than my own; in short he made me angry and cross, 
and I went away dissatisfied with myself, and think- 
ing I had never seen my favourite Fitz-Ernest to so 
little advantage. As I walked home, I believe I was 
muttering to myself “ how these young folks do plague 
me — my hands are too full — I wish 1 had nothing to 
do with them.” 

But then I thought of poor defenceless Rosalie, and 
my heart smote me for the idea. 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


135 


CHAPTER XXI. 

Mv readers may now transport themselves into the 
habitation of Sir Francis Somerville. 

It was in the drawing-room that the breakfast ser- 
vice was laid; and a scene more replete with luxury 
can scarcely be imagined. The apartment, although 
not of large dimensions, was lofty — the furniture ex- 
quisite. No expense had been spared to collect every 
article of virtu. The choicest pictures graced the 
walls ; and, although the subjects were not altogether 
those which the chastest mind might have chosen, 
still, they were beautiful — enchanting to the senses of 
those epicureans in enjoyment, who frequented the 
bachelor abode of Sir Francis Somerville. 

It was noon; but the Baronet was still in his loose 
brocaded silk dressing-gown — his feet luxuriating in 
Turkish slippers, and he was half reclining in the most 
voluptuous of fauteuils. 

“ Bring another cup and saucer, Gustave,” he said 
languidly to the French servant, who was hovering 
about the room, as if in expectation of receiving some 
fresh orders from his master. “ I expect some one to 
breakfast ; and pray tell Lopreste to send some of 
those cutlets that were so much liked at Melton last 
winter; and mind he does not forget the sauce, with 
that slightest souppon of garlic. I must put that fel- 
low Templeton, in good humour,” he continued, half 
aloud to himself, as the servant withdrew, “and the only 
way to his heart is through his stomach; — but how 
late the animal is,” he added, looking at a Breguet 
clock which stood on the mantel-piece. “ I hope he 
is not going to give me the slip, for I must and will 
see this new girl at the Opera-house, without delay, 
before she has been gazed upon by all London. I also 
g.m determined to be introduced to her, and Temple- 


130 


THE YOUNG PIUMA DONNA. 


ton is the only tool 1 can, at this moment, use for the 
purpose. What a state Henry de Vere was in about 
her! I certainly am an extraordinary fellow !” con* 
tinued to apostrophize Sir Francis,, smiling at his own 
conceit— 

“ To one thing constant never.” 

“I declare, the description of this beauty, added to 
the desire, which I cannot help feeling, to throw over 
any one of those pretended saints, the Belmonts, has 
inspired me with* such an ardent wish to be the first 
to enjoy the smiles of this new divinity, that there is 
nothing I would not give to realize it. Oh ! woman! 
woman ! what mischeivous little devils you all are!” 

A sharp, loud knock put an end to this soliloquy, 
and, in another moment, the door was opened, and in 
walked Augustus Templeton, Esq., followed by some 
servants, bearing several covers, amongst which was 
a most fragrant dish of cutlets, with other delicacies 
of this elaborate and recherche breakfast. The very 
sight and smell of these dainties seemed to rejoice the 
inmost soul of Templeton. 

“Upon my word,” he said, rubbing his hands, 
“ you’er a very good fellow, Somerville, to recollect 
my favourite dish ; what a breakfast I shall make 1 
for this long walk across the Park has made me just 
as hungry as if I had had a run with the Q,uorn hounds 
in Leicestershire !” 

Then down he sat, and, as Sir Francis beheld with 
impatience the manner in which he partook of every 
thing that was before him, he plainly perceived, that 
until his hunger was appeased, there was little use in 
asking him any questions. Nothing could turn his 
eyes from his plate, and his mouth was always much 
too full to enable him to articulate. At last, the eager 
Baronet saw what he hoped was the last mouthful, 
swallowed by his voracious friend, and then he could 
not help saying — “ Really, Templeton, I am glad that 
you have enjoyed your breakfast ; but, upon my word, 
if you go on in this way, you will assuredly die of 


THE YOUNG TRIMA DONNA. 


137 


apoplexy before the year is out — what with that short 
neck and red face of yours !” 

“ Very flattering, certainly !” replied the other, 
starting up, and placing himself before the glass, whilst 
he endeavoured to stretch his throat out to its utmost 
dimensions; “and as for a red face, my colour, I flat- 
ter myself, is the hue of health. I can tell you, I 
should be confoundedly sorry to look as thin and lan- 
tern-jawed as you do, Somerville, although I believe 
you fancy your sallow looks are extremely interest- 
ing.” 

“ I sometimes imagine they are considered so,” re- 
joined Sir Francis; and the calm tone of self-satifac- 
tion with which he pronounced these words, proved 
that, indeed, he thought so. 

“ But, Templeton, mon beau gargon ,” he continued; 
“never mind looks. Our beauty,” he added, in a 
conciliatory tone, “ is of a different style ; but, of 
course, my good fellow, I do not mean to say that 
yours may not be infinitely preferred in certain quar- 
ters; indeed, I am convinced your little fat Fanny 
would not have looked at me, after she had once cast 
her eyes upon that beau-ideal of beauty — a beauty she 
might have before dreamt of, but never seen realized, 
until she beheld the too attractive Augustus !” 

Templeton looked delighted. 

“Come, come, my dear boy; this is rather too 
strong,” he exclaimed. “I dare say you are only 
quizzing.” But still he kept his eyes on the glass, 
and employed himself in arranging his cinnamon-co- 
loured locks — brushing up, so as to make the most of 
his whiskers — altering the set of his neck-cloth — in 
short, making himself up, as much as possible, to re- 
present the fine fellow he inwardly believed himself 
to be. 

Sir Francis saw, reflected in the mirror, the pleased 
countenance of the silly dandy, and thought this was 
the moment to strike, for the iron appeared extremely 
hot. 

“ Bv the bv, Templeton, you said last night, that 
12 * 


138 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


you were going to the rehearsal at the Opera-house 
this morning. 1 want you to take me with you.” 

“Quite impossible! it is with the utmost difficulty I 
can get in myself; — and really, you must excuse me, 
Somerville,” he added, very pompously ; “ it would 
entirely put me out — derange all my plans confound- 
edly.” 

“ Nonsense! now, just listen to me, Templeton, and 
don’t be a fool. I not only intend that you shall 
take me there this very morning, but I also insist upon 
your introducing me to the Signora Myrtilla, for I am 
quite determined to make the acquaintance of this 
canlatrice. Now, hold your tongue, and save your- 
self the trouble of speaking,” (seeing that his compa- 
nion was about to interrupt him) “ you know very 
■well, you find your devoirs to the little Fanny suffici- 
ently expensive, and you may be certain, that, to get 
on with this Signora, you would have to pay through 
the rtOse, which, I am quite aware, you cannot dor 
therefore, without any farther hesitation, you must 
just go with me' to the Haymarket, and, as we pass 
Storr and Mortimer’s, you shall, as a reward, choose 
any thing you please — in moderation, remember — for 
your nimble toed goddess, and, of course, I will pay 
for it; and, depend upon it, that will be much wiser 
than trying to make a fool of yourself in a quarter 
where you cannot have the remotest chance of suc- 
cess. My dear fellow, recollect the old adage— ‘You 
must creep before you can climb.’ You have begun, 
prudently, at the very lowest step, and it will be some 
time before you can expect to reach to such a height 
as the Prima Donna of the Italian Opera.” 

Templeton looked irresolute. He scarcely knew whe- 
ther he had better not play the part of the offended man; 
however, his eyes fell on the breakfast table. The re- 
membrance of all the past feeds, of which he had so 
often partaken, and the visions of future ones checked 
the current of his anger; the long purse of his friend 
also, which had often been ofsuch essential service to 
him, flashed upon his recollection. 

He therefore only said: — “ Upon my honour, you are; 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


139 


too hard — too exigeant; and nothing would tempt me 
to accede to your very preposterous wish, were it 
not for the spite I feel towards that young de Vere. 
I think his impertinence to me was beyond any thing 
I ever met with; the idea of making such a fuss, and 
standing up in such a manner, for the reputation of a 
girl, who is the daughter of such a profligate as Ga- 
brielli, and whose companion, Myrtilla, every one 
knows to be as bad as she can be; it is really quite 
absurd, perfectly ludicrous ; if he were not such a 
boy,” continued the bullying Irishman, looking very 
fierce, “ I should have been tempted to chastise him 
for his insolence.” 

“Oh,” said Sir Francis, laughing, “ pray do not 
trouble yourself; for, perhaps, after all you would 
come off second best; and I cannot spare you at pre- 
sent, mon cher — you are the most useful friend I pos- 
sess.” 

“Well, well,” rejoined Templeton, with much im- 
portance of manner; “ then pray go and dress, for if 
I am to take you to this place, it is very near the time 
we ought to be there, and my friend promised to be 
on the look-out for me. But I say, Somerville, you 
must pay him also — remember that.” 

“Very well, I am prepared,” replied the Baronet, 
as he left the room to adonize, leaving his guest 
to amuse himself with the looking-glass and the debris 
of the breakfast, upon which he would fain have made 
another attack, as there was still a cutlet remaining, 
which looked very inviting, but the officious servants 
entered at that moment, and every vestige of the re- 
past was soon removed. 

Sir Francis was not very long in making his ap- 
pearance, and they immediately sallied forth. Tem- 
pleton took care that the visit to Storr and Mortimer’s 
should not be forgotten; and, not only did he choose 
a present for Fanny, but some smart pins and a set 
of flaming studs for himself; a ring of large dimen- 
sions also struck his fancy, but Sir Francis dragged 
him away. 


140 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


very well for one morning; the ring must wait for 
some other time, when you have earned it by fresh 
deeds done in my service.” 

With hasty steps, they now proceeded to the Hay- 
Market, and without much difficulty, the two young 
men found themselves seated in a box, concealed as 
much as possible by the curtain. 

The rehearsal had not yet commenced, and they 
sat, for some time, in the dark and dingy theatre, im- 
patiently waiting for the drawing up of the curtain. 
Somerville was silent and abstracted, and his compa- 
nion, who was, perhaps, a little oppressed by the 
breakfast he had just eaten, was more than usually in- 
clined to be taciturn. At last, however, being of a 
peculiarly curious disposition, he was roused by the 
noise of a box -door opening on the opposite side, into 
which some one entered, but that was all he could 
discover at the moment; for, whoever it might be, 
seemed, in his turn, also desirous of remaining in- 
cognito, as the curtains were immediately drawn, and 
the new comer was quite invisible. 

“I say, Somerville, I wonder who that is, who has 
seated himselfin the box opposite? I dare say, with the 
view of poaching upon the manor which we wish to keep 
forourselves;” but no answer did Templeton obtain; for 
at that instant, the rehearsal commenced, and Sir 
Francis had neither eyes nor ears, but for the per- 
formance. 

It was, indeed, with almost breathless anxiety that 
he waited for the appearance of the cantalrice. Ar- 
turo was the first of the new singers who presented 
himself. 

“That’s the fellow I told you about,” exclaimed 
Templeton; “is he not disgustingly handsome?” 

“He is, indeed,” replied Sir Francis, “his cast of 
countenance is splendid; and what a voice ! But is 
that the prima donna?” he exclaimed, taking hold of 
Templeton’s arm with a gripe which made him shrink, 
and must have left, at least, the impression of his five 
fingers upon his flesh. 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


141 


“ To be sure it is; but pray do not hurt me so hor- 
ribly, and do not speak so loud.” 

He need not thus have enjoined silence, for Rosa- 
lie then commenced singing; and Sir Francis, really 
quite pale from the sudden surprise, beheld before him 
the beautiful being who had so long troubled his fan- 
cy, for whom he had so assiduously sought — but in 
vain. Silent he now sat — motionless — entranced; his 
delighted senses revelled in ecstasy. The melodious 
strains, which proceeded from such lips! he had ne- 
ver heard any thing so exquisite — and oh! how lovely 
did he consider her! His eyes were fascinated to the 
one object, and fruitless now were all Templeton’s 
endeavours to edge in a remark. Whenever he 
opened his lips, Sir Francis, with a glance of impa- 
tient anger, desired him to be silent, and after it was 
all over, he still remained for some moments fixed to 
the spot; suddenly he started up, and giving the as- 
tounded Templeton a most lriendly although, at the 
same time, electrifying clap upon the back, exclaimed: 
— “Now, old boy, if you do not contrive, in the course 
of four-and-twenty hours, to gain for me an introduc- 
tion to that angelic creature, you will hear that I have 
blown out my brains, and you will lose your best 
friend; for, remember, if you do what I wish, there is 
nothing you may not command in return.” 

The two virtuous friends were now in the street, 
but they were still hovering near the doors of the the- 
atre, whence the performers had not yet issued. Pre- 
sently Rosalie appeared, leaning on my arm, but her 
thick veil was closely drawn over her face, and a 
large mantle perfectly enveloped her form. 

“ Who is that old quiz, I wonder, who always seems 
to attend her?” exclaimed Sir Francis. 

They had not time to make any farther remark while 
we remained, for as Rosalie was very much fatigued, I 
soon put her into a coach, and we drove off. But when 
Gabrielli, with Myrtilla leaning on his arm, advanced, 
they were immediately accosted by Templeton, who 
had known them formerly in Italy, and then followed 
the introduction to Sir Francis, 


142 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


This was the first step gained towards the comple- 
tion of the base project, now the engrossing idea of 
the vitiated mind of Sir Francis. How little did he 
contemplate the perfect subversion of his plans; how 
little did he then anticipate the dominion which purity 
and high principle would exercise over the licentious 
feelings of his heart ! 




CHAPTER XXII. 

It is again in Lady Gertrude’s morning-room, that 
I am about to assemble some of the dramatis 'personas 
of my story. 

Lady Constance had been passing the whole day 
with her future sister. It was a pretty sight, the in- 
terior of this chamber, and as I looked round upon all 
the lovely young creatures, who were so gracefully 
pursuing their various occupations, I began to com- 
pare the scene with classic associations. Was it not 
like unto the Temple of Muses? 

At a window, sat one of the beautiful sisters, busily 
employed in drawing. Lady Constance had just risen 
from the harp, and was still leaning silently against it. 
Methought, as my eye fell upon her, that her counte- 
nance was clouded; certainly a pensive cast over- 
shadowed it, and I turned instinctively to Fitz-Ernest, 
who was also in the room; but he appeared deeply 
engrossed by the book he was reading. 

Lady Gertrude was at her embroidery-frame ; and 
as I admired the beauty of the design she was tracing, 
she smiled and blushed, and half whispered that it 
was for a waistcoat for Alandale. 

I had scarcely been in the room more than a few 
minutes, when the party was increased by the en- 
trance of Lord Henry, whom I had not seen for some 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


143 


days. Almost immediately that he saw me, he ex- 
claimed: “ Mr. Leslie, how is Rosalie?” 

At the magic sound of this name, all eyes were di- 
rected towards me, and I perceived that Filz-Ernest 
directly threw his book upon the table, and fixed a 
look upon my countenance, which conveyed the ex- 
pression of intense interest, but he still remained si- 
lent. 

Lord Henry continued the theme, by saying: — I 
have been at your lodgings fifty times, at least, and I 
never find you at home. Is it not hard,” addressing 
his sister Gertrude, “ that Mr. Leslie will not let us 
see that beautiful Rosalie; it is dreadfully tantalizing, 
just to have one glimpse of her, and no more. Fitz- 
Ernest,” he added,* seeming to wish to prolong the 
subject which appeared the one that engrossed his im- 
agination, “ as I have before told you, there never was 
any thing so lovely as Rosalie — much too handsome. 
I have been wretched ever since I saw her; she is so 
infinitely too good for her situation in life, and she 
seems to feel it so acutely! Mr. Leslie,” he continued, 
turning towards me with quickness, “ I trust, indeed, 
that you watch over her, and never leave her; for it 
distracts me, when I think to what she will be ex- 
posed.” 

“ It is truly a hard case, a crying shame,” exclaim- 
ed Fitz-Ernest, with strong emotion; “ and it is ab- 
surd, Mr. Leslie, your wishing to prevent our inter- 
fering at this moment ; my presence had always the 
effect of frightening Gabrielli into good behaviour. 
I shall go instantly to my mother and consult with 
her upon the subject;” and thus saying, he quitted the 
room abruptly, leaving a disagreeable feeling in one 
heart, certainly; for on looking at Lady Constance, I 
saw that she had turned very pale. 

A silence of some minutes ensued, and then the con- 
versation again reverted to Rosalie. With much con- 
cern, I perceived that Lady Constance continued to 
seem uncomfortable. Her eyes wandered towards 
the door, hoping, no doubt, to see Fitz-Ernest re-en- 
ter, but he came not. 


144 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONnA. 


“ Dear Gertrude,” she at length said, in a tone of 
voicb, which told of nervousness, “ I must return 
home. It is one o’clock, and I promised papa, to call 
for him at Kensington at three. I can walk, if you 
will allow a servant to accompany me.” 

“ But, Constance,” replied Gertrude, “ I thought 
you had ordered the carriage to come for you here ? 
You must go down to luncheon, which has just been 
announced; — but,” she continued rising and approach- 
ing her, “ you look pale, dearest. What is the mat- 
ter, darling sister?” for she now perceived tears fall- 
ing fast, from the soft eyes of her charming friend — 
tears which Constance was vainly endeavouring to 
repress and conceal;' — but the tender words and ca- 
resses of Lady Gertrude, seemed completely to have 
the effect of opening some hitherto obstructed flow of 
emotion, for leaning on the bosom of this affectionate 
girl, she wept bitterly. 

How I hate to be the witness of tears, whether they 
proceed from man or woman — young or old — the 
beautiful or the ill-favoured ! 

At this moment the sight of them was most pecu- 
liarly disagreeable to me;— they appeared doubly 
painful — wholly unnatural. The fair being, from 
whose eyes the pearly drops chased each other in 
such quick succession, seemed so little formed for sor- 
row. The favoured child of fortune ! and yet with 
every seeming joy brightening around her — the lovely 
heiress to wealth and rapk, still — in heartfelt sorrow 
she wept. 

r When the heart is pained by that shaft, which ai- 
rways wounds the most deeply — doubt of the love of 
)one, upon whom we have leant, with the whole weight 
I of affection — where shall it, at that sad moment, turn 
/ for relief? Will it find comfort in the recollection of 
honours and titles, or in the contemplation of sur- 
rounding treasures? 

Talk not of the honours of a Court. Talk not of 
the wealth of the East. These; in the hour of the 
soul’s bitterness, are indeed spurned as nothing. 
Every earthly joy, in comparison with the treasure of 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


145 


true affection, is no more than an empty pageant — a 
feeble reed, which affords no support — a house of 
straw, that is scattered before the wind ! 

Lady Gertrude full of concern for her sweet friend, 
led her gently from the apartment. * Constance is 
not well,” she said; “ I remarked that she has looked 
ill all the morning.” 

We will not now follow them into the sacred pri- 
vacy of the dressing-room. We will leave them to 
pour forth, to each other, their confessions and their 
consolations-, and revert to one, who had caused this 
tragic scene, and who had left it so abruptly. 

I have hitherto represented Fitz-Ernest to my read- 
ers, as my favourite young friend. I have said that 
as a youth, he was of a more serious and reflecting 
character than his lively brother, and certainly, al- 
though, at this moment, I was a little angry, I still 
must ever have declared, that a more noble, gene- 
rous heart, never beat in a human frame. But still, 
where did we ever meet with perfection in this world 
of sin? 

Fitz-Ernest was after all but human, and human 
passions throbbed as warmly in his bosom, as in those 
of persons who were perhaps more demonstrative in 
their feelings. His mind was softened and improved 
by education, and a strong sense of religion had deep- 
ly rooted itself in his nature. That his engagement 
with Lady Constance was, at first, the result of a de- 
sire, to fulfil the earnest wishes of his family my read- 
ers may have imagined; but he did not offer her his 
hand until his affections had been gained by his far- 
ther knowledge of her perfections. He always ad- 
mired her as a delightful girl— as a sweet engaging 
creature, still love had formed no part of his thoughts; 
but after being intimately acquainted with her for 
some time, one by one her excellencies dawned upon 
his imagination, and soon he felt convinced, he could 
love her as a wife, and that, in gaining her affections, 
he had met with a companion, whose presence would 
gild and adorn every future year of his life. 

This was all as it should be; and if untoward cir- 
vol. i. — 13 


146 


TflE YOUNG PfclMA DONNA. 


cumstances had not unfortunately occurred, to alter 
for a space, the current of this feeling, which, though 
perhaps, of a calm nature, would have strengthened 
and increased ten-fold, when time, and a still nearer 
acquaintance with Lady Constance, had revealed the 
real lustre of the treasure which now modestly veiled 
its own brightness, there might have ’ been no check 
to the happiness of this amiable girl. 

*But the course of true love never did run smooth ;’ 7 
so it is said and sung — and certainly at this moment. 
Lady Constance felt, with anguish at her heart, that 
Fitz-Ernest, whom she loved with all the devoted 
warmth of woman’s nature, was altered in his man- 
ner — colder — unlike what he was when she existed 
with him in a w'orld, “ to her of ecstasy ” in the lovely 
shades of Belmont. 

With the quick and true perception of a loving wo- 
man, she instantly detected the abstracted look — the 
eye more frequently averted, than fixed upon her 
countenance. This morning particularly, she had 
marked a difference that agonized her. Fitz Erjjest 
was so grave — so silent. Her performance on the 
harp, which was really beautiful, and had hitherto 
elicited such praise, now seemed almost unheeded ; 
or the first exclamation of applause which escaped his 
lips, did not satisfy her exacting heart. In vain his 
favourite airs were played — the son g he so much, 
loved — sung — with oh! what feeling! by her to whom 
he was betrothed; he appeared only to become more 
melancholy. 

We often assist in the creation of our own miseries, 
and unhappily for the peace of mind of Lady Con- 
stance, she had formed one in her own imagination; 
— this was no other than a shrinking dread — a trem- 
bling jealousy of the attractions she heard ascribed to 
poor Rosalie. 

Oh ! how I wish I could with truth declare, that she 
was unjust towards her affianced Lord — that there 
was not a shadow of foundation for such an idea; but 
as ihe historian of this tale, I must be true — I must 
relate all without reserve or partiality, although even 


THE YOUNG PUIMA DONNA. 


147 


now my heart aches and revolts against saying a word, 
which will bring to light the only weakness that ever 
appeared in the character of my dear, and favourite 
young friend. 

The truth is, Fitz-Ernest’s curiosity had been much 
excited by his brother Henry’s account of Rosalie, 
and the interest he had always felt in her welfare— 
the love that still warmly glowed in his kind heart, 
towards the little pet and play-fellow of his child- 
hood — all combined to render him most anxious to 
see her. 

I wished to do every thing for the best, but in my 
zeal to do good, I blundered sadly. I ought not to 
have cast such a veil of mystery and romance over 
the poor girl, which is always inflaming and exciting 
to the mind of the young. I ought, at once, to have 
invested Fitz-Ernest with the character he would have 
been delighted to assume — that of her friend and pa- 
tron — her protector. I acted, Heaven knows ! with 
the best of motives, but the results were not such as I 
had hoped. 

Fitz-Ernest perceiving that I was determined to 
postpone the time of his meeting with Rosalie, half 
out of playful opposition, and urged by a strong feeling 
of curiosity — resolved to gain his point, and see her 
without my assistance. For this purpose, he thought 
no opportunity would be more favourable, than that 
of gaining admittance to a rehearsal, and forthwith 
made his way into the Opera House on the same 
morning, and in the very same manner, in which Sir 
Francis Somerville and Templeton, found access to 
the theatre. 

When he first seated himself in the box, which com- 
manded an excellent view of the stage, the uppermost 
feeling that excited him, was a degree of malicious 
pleasure, at having obtained a victory over me, and 
he laughed to himself, when he thought how complete- 
ly I had been overreached.^ Then succeeded the anx- 
iety of expectation and curiosity. He longed to see 
the little Rosalie appear in her new character. He 
did not entertain the slightest doubt of the exaggera- 


148 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


tion of my description of her beauty. I was always 
accused of making gods and goddesses of those I loved 
— Venuses ! — Adonises ! 

« And Henry,” thought Fitz-Ernest, “ he is just at 
the age to think every woman lovely, who is not ab- 
solutely the contrary.” 

It was, therefore, in the true spirit of criticism, and 
with the determination to be amused, and to be enabled 
to have a good laugh at my expense, that he awaited 
the performance which was about to commence. 
Arturo, as I have before stated, was the first to make 
his appearance, and upon this subject Fitz-Ernest could 
not but allow, that I had not said too much. His heart 
keenly alive to the fascination of music, became soft- 
ened — every feeling affected by the powerful influence 
of the melody, the cadence of which was of so touch- 
ing a nature ; — his rapt senses were now absorbed in 
listening attention ; for a moment, every thing else 
was forgotten, so completely w r as his mind engrossed 
by the young actor, who now stood before him. 

But how can I describe the extraordinary burst of 
surprise — the shock of amazement I may say, for thus 
with his own lips he afterwards described it to me, 
when the heroine of the piece at length appeared be- 
fore his incredulous eyes. He was so astonished — so 
bewildered, that he felt for a moment, as if the beat- 
ings o£his heart were suspended. 

There had been a vision of loveliness, which for 
some time floated before his imagination. It was, 
however, one on which he had not dwelt. Lady Con- 
stance even, on that point, might have been satisfied; 
but it had often rather pertinaciously suggested itself 
to his memory, like the remembrance of some striking 
picture, some beauteous landscape, once seen, and 
never to be forgotten. It was strange, for he had 
ceased to think upon it. His daily increasing affec- 
tion for Lady Constance had filled his mind with her 
mild and attractive image, and a life of tranquil hap- 
piness with her, bounded his views for the future. Still 
— and he thought it a strange coincidence — in his 
dreams sometimes, he saw the countenance of the 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


149 


beautiful girl he had so casually met at Brighton ; but 
on waking, the impression it had left upon his mind, 
was only imperfect, and he smiled when he recollected 
the circumstance, and thought upon the eccentric na* 
ture of these visitations of sleep. 

But how can I express the astonishment he felt in 
recognizing in the actress who now presented herself 
to his view, the mysterious beauty who had so inte- 
rested his every feeling at Brighton; — to obtain one 
more glance from whose eyes of splendour, such as he 
had never before looked upon — he had so anxiously 
sought. 

He gazed at her fixedly — with intensity. He ex- 
amined her countenance through his opera glass, and 
then, like a flash of lightning through his memory, the 
recollection of Rosalie dawned upon him. It was she 
indeed, but oh! how changed! how beautiful. 

And then she sang. With what thrilling ecstacy 
did he listen to a voice — unequalled — a voice which, 
once heard, must ever vibrate on the ear — a melody 
never to be forgotten! 

He listened, and he gazed, till at length — he con- 
fessed to me — in the darkness and solitude of his place 
of concealment, the lovely sight of this sweet girl, at 
times, was obstructed by tears, which would rise ever 
and anon. “ There was something,” he said, “ so 
mournfully beautiful about her — the pathos of her 
notes so touching — so melodiously melancholy!” Ge- 
nius exemplified itself in every action; and how truly 
did she feel each word she uttered. Fearfully natural 
was her acting. As she proceeded in her part, Fitz- 
Ernest felt his whole frame quivering with agitation; 
he was deeply affected. 

Then did all he had heard from me occur to his 
memory — her sufferings — the harsh treatment she 
had endured— the wretches with whom she associ- 
ated; and with grief he remembered the reverse of 
this sad picture. 

He thought of her, in her past happiness; he recol- 
lected her confiding love towards himself — the time 
when he was to her as a brother — when she was 
13 * 


150 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


wont to fly to him for protection, for comfort; and 
even on his bosom to weep forth her childish sorrows. 
Poor, poor Rosalie ! and his arms could no longer af- 
ford her shelter or support ! 

If we could have penetrated into the recesses of his 
heart, we should have found many a stedfast vow 
there breathed of devotion to her cause. The affi- 
anced husband of Lady Constance, in that moment of 
excitement, thought only of being the friend, the 
champion, of Rosalie. 

Following the impulse of his feelings, fain would he 
have instantly sought her; but, fortunately, he recol- 
lected my words — that agitation to her, at the present 
moment, would be most injurious, most fatal; and, in- 
deed, when he looked again upon her speaking coun- 
tenance, there was marked upon it an expression of 
such indescribable wretchedness — such despairing, 
hopeless misery — that he was held back. He felt 
that, truly, this was not the time to come forward, but 
befriend her he would. 

To do my young friend justice, I must add, that it 
was as a tender, devoted brother that he thought of 
her; no unworthy idea crossed his imagination. But, 
alas! alas! how dangerous, how excitable, are the 
fascinations of the gentler sex over the susceptible 
heart of man ! : 

Fitz-Ernest dreamt not of sinning against his pro- 
mised bride, when he gazed with such tender admira- 
tion upon poor Rosalie; but still, how did this inter- 
view affect his general conduct? Was he not, during 
the course of that evening, sad and silent — distrait? 
All around him appeared common-place. The rou- 
tine of life he beheld in his family, so replete with luxury, 
with comfort; all upon whom he cast his eyes tasting 
the full cup of enjoyment, whilst Rosalie— the beauti- 
ful— the highly gifted— was struggling with difficul- 
ties, with miseries! Every thing seemed to him 
tame, insipid. His thoughts were fixed, with too much 
tenacity, on the soul-stirring scene he had that morn- 
ing witnessed. 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


151 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


Fitz-Ernest had expected to see me that evening; 
but there was a large dinner-party at Belmont house, 
and, as I disliked mixing with strangers, I did not go, 
and he was disappointed. 

We did not meet until the next morning, as I have 
before mentioned, in his sister’s apartment. After the 
disappearance of Lady Constance, we were all silent 
and grave. I rose, shor‘ly, to take my departure. As 
I was slowly descending the staircase, I heard a 
quick step behind me, and presently a voice, which 
I knew to be that of Fitz-Ernest, pronounced my 
name. 

“ Mr. Leslie,” he said, “ if you are going to walk, I 
will accompany you.” 

I could not say no; although my heart yearned to 
tell him, rather to go to the sweet girl who might be, 
even then, weeping and in sorrow; but I felt that I 
had no business to interfere between the lovers. 

Silently, we walked for a short time, and then Fitz- 
Ernest asked me in which direction I was bound. I 
told him I had intended to return to my rooms, 
but, that, if he pleased, I would go any where with 
him. 

“ Oh, no !” he answered; “ let me go home with 
you, for I have much to say.” 

I was living in the Albany, therefore we soon 
reached my apartments. Immediately on entering, 
Fitz-Ernest flung himself listlessly upon a sofa and 
took ofFhis hat. As my eyes fell on his countenance, 
I remarked that he looked very ill, and pale, and that 
a harassed expression pervaded his features. 


152 


the young prima donna. 


“ Mr Leslie/’ he exclaimed, “ I scarcely closed my 
eyes the whole of last night. I have been indescriba- 
bly wretched. You will, no doubt, be much surprised, 
when I tell you it is the sight of Rosalie that has con- 
jured up all this discomfort.” 

“ The sight of Rosalie!” I exclaimed; “ and where 
may you have seen her ?” 

“ Why, my dear Sir,” he continued, “ a little spirit 
of contradiction, mingled with other feelings, prompt- 
ed me to determine to steal a march upon you, and 
obtain a sight of your hidden gem. Heaven knows !” 
he added, with strong emotion, “ I have been punish- 
ed for endeavouring to counteract your views; for, 
upon my word, the idea of that poor girl, in her pre- 
sent miserable condition, has haunted my mind. 
Gracious powers! how lovely she is! how bewitch- 
ing! She cannot,” he continued, with a warmth of 
manner, which appeared to kindle, more and more, 
with every word which passed his lips, “ she really must 
not be allowed to persevere in a life of such risk — 
such imminent peril — to one so beautiful, so highly 
gifted. It perfectly distracts me, when I think that 
she, who, as a child, was so good, so innocent; whose 
early years were spent under the eye of my excellent 
mother; the companion of my pure sisters, should 
now, so totally against every dictate of her heart 
every inclination of her nature, be placed in a situa- 
tion, where she will be the mark at which every li- 
bertine will presume to aim. I cannot bear it!” he 
cried, with great agitation; “ since I have seen her, 
all my old associations have revived; I feel as if one 
of my own sisters was about to be sacrificed ; and, at 
this moment I would stake a great deal — aye, a great 
deal ” he again repeated, “ even my life to protect 
her 1” 

I trembled at these words, and, as I watched the 
speaking countenance of Fitz-Ernest, my heart sank, 
and I inwardly ejaculated— “ Unfortunate Rosalie! 
did I not always foresee misery wherever you were 
concerned? I knew not how to reply. I. sat speech- 
less, and truly uncomfortable. l JJ f i , ; 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


153 


“ My dear Sir,” he continued, speaking rapidly, 
and with energetic fervour, “ my excellent friend — 
the friend of Rosalie, you must assist me in saving this 
interesting — this unfortunate girl ; and do not deem 
the scheme I have to suggest wild or visionary 
Were I not just now peculiarly situated, I should not 
hesitate what course to pursue. I declare to you, that 
in the character of an anxious brother, I would take 
her away, either by fair means, or, if that failed, by 
any other that would ensure her escape from that 
monster, Gabrielli. Did I not see his diabolical coun- 
tenance even on the stage during the rehearsal — his 
brutal manner towards her, when any thing happened 
to go wrong in the performance; once, I saw him seize 
her so roughly by the arm, that the blood curdled in 
my veins; and, oh! I shall never forget the terrified 
expression of her features! The wretch! — I am cer- 
tain he hurt her, for she coloured and shuddered. 
She looked like an affrighted deer, with those large, 
melancholy, gazelle eyes; and when the man loosened 
his grasp, what a dart she took across the stage, to- 
wards the young Italian, the new actor, as if she flew 
to him for protection ! It might have appeared like 
acting to other beholders, but I, at once, saw it was a 
frightful reality. Gracious Heaven! what a history 
of suffering I read in that short space of time ! Now, 
Mr. Leslie, listen to my plan. I have formed it as if 
it were for one of my sisters — Gertrude — Geral- 
dine, or any of the others. There is money,” he said, 
laying down a well stored note-case, “ and to any 
amount I would, too gladly, be answerable, so you 
perform my will. You have access to Rosalie, so, 
before it is too late, take her away. Go abroad — I 
will find a place of security for her; but, in the name 
of humanity, remove her from the destruction that 
awaits her here. Leave all the arrangements to me, 
if you will only consent to accompany her. But, why 
do you shake your head? Do you really mean to in- 
sinuate, that with all your boasted love for this poor 
girl, you cannot thus far exert yourself?” 

I now spoke. I tried to impress upon his mind the 


154 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


nature of her engagement—the confusion her non- 
appearance would create — Gabrielli’s fierce rage, 
which would vent itself in revengeful cruelty on the 
unhappy mother. I recalled to his recollection, that 
Rosalie was under age, and consequently, in his pow r - 
er, by law ; — that he would seek her in every corner 
of the globe; and, should she again fall into his hands, 
what then would be her fate ? I tried all my powers 
of eloquence to persuade him, that, for the present, 
our most prudent plan, with regard to her interest, was 
to allow matters to take their course; but I could not 
convince him, and, with grief I say it, we parted in 
anger. The boy whom 1 had loved so long, who had 
ever, till now, evinced, towards me, such respectful af- 
fection, left me with the averted look of dissatisfaction. 

“Good morning, then,” he said, most haughtily, his 
form assuming additional height, as he drew himself 
up, in proud displeasure. “ On your own head, may 
all the misery I anticipate, rest. Rosalie — the child 
of your adoption — she, whom you professed to love so 
well, is on the brink of a precipice, and you will not 
so much as stretch forth your hand to save her; 
scarcely can anyone imagine the snares which encom- 
pass her. — You may live to repent not having taken 
my advice.” 

So saying, he quitted the room. And in what a 
state did he leave me! I will confess it, though it 
may appear unmanly — childish — I leant forward to- 
wards the table, near which I was sitting, and, bury- 
ing my face wdthin my hands, wept bitterly. 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


165 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

It was Thursday evening. On the following Sa- 
turday Rosalie was to make her debut. She had 
long anticipated the event, and the constant prepara- 
tions for it had brought her mind into a resigned 
state, with regard to the momentous epoch. Having 
gained the great point of my presence and protection, 
half the terrors which encompassed the undertaking 
appeared to have vanished; and, moreover, there was 
a kind of morbid indifference about her, evinced in 
all her actions when not absolutely on the stage, 
which seemed to have deadened— to have benumbed, 
as it were all her faculties. 

When removed from the influence of the eye of 
Gabrielli, she generally sat in moody silence. Her 
usual seat was a low stool, by the side of the sofa on 
which lay her suffering mother ; and there she would 
remain, for hours, unoccupied. A book, perhaps, was 
on her knees, but it was observed that she seldom 
looked into it. Her large distended eyes seemed fixed 
on vacancy; but, should Gabrielli suddenly enter the 
apartment, then would she start up, and fly to some 
occupation connected with her calling. 

I was astounded by her acting ; as I have before 
remarked, it was fearfully beautiful. Were the scenes 
she pourtrayed, mournfully pathetic, then she was, 
indeed, herself — the sad — the heart-broken Rosalie ; 
her own sorrows were exemplified ; every word ap- 
peared to flow at once from the agonized recesses of 
her heart. 

The effect she produced surprised even me ; while 
they whose well practised ears and eyes had seen so 
many theatrical exhibitions, were affected, were ri- 
veted with rapture and astonishment. The sensation 


156 


THE YOUNG FRIMA UONNA. 


it caused me may easily be imagined, but, I own, I 
scarcely expected to witness tears, even from some of 
the oldest stagers. 

I have seen them, after a rehearsal, go up to Ga- 
brielli, and, with the fervour so energetically expressed 
by their language, congratulate him on the treasure 
he possessed — “ the star of splendour ” — “ the rich 
prize” — and then, how did it sicken me, when I 
glanced at the triumphant countenance of the villian. 
He had purchased it at a dear price. — A victim had 
been immolated at the shrine of his avariee. 

But, when it was all over — the curtain dropped, and 
the illusion vanished — in the automaton figure who 
stood before me, the inspired actress could scarcely 
be recognised. It seemed as if she had been wound 
up for the performance; as long as it lasted, and the 
eye of her tyrant was upon her, her energies were all 
alive; and, oh! how fearful did she appear in those 
scenes, in which she had to personify, either rage, re- 
venge, or madness ! 

She was no longer Rosalie — the young — the lovely 
— the innocent; but the maniac — the fury; and, shud- 
dering, I turned from a sight, which, though splendid 
as to acting, grated on my feelings. Could it be true? 
— could it be possible, that a creature like her, so full 
of soft — of tender affections, could feel, even in imagi- 
nation, the semblance of the passions she pourtrayed ? 
But, when the burst of enthusiasm was extinguished, 
with it all animation fled; — she was a passive image. 

I used to take her home, and consign her to the 
care of Johnson, and then she was placed upon her 
bed, where she lay quietly, but not asleep. She 
seldom closed her eyes — but she spoke not — moved 
not. 

It was on Thursday as I said before. Rosalie was 
seated at her accustomed place close by her mother’s 
side. She was bending over a book, and her features 
were almost totally concealed by the masses of dark 
hair, which hung in ringlets over her face. Myrtilla 
entered. 

“ Rosalie I” she said, “ you must come with me ; it 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


157 


is Signor Gabrielli’s wish that you should go with us 
to-night to a musical party.” 

Rosalie looked up, and fixed her eyes upon the Sig- 
nora, with a kind of bewildered stare. 

“It is time to prepare, so pray get up and rouse 
yourself.” 

“ Hut what is it that I am to do ?” said Rosalie in a 
distressed and petulant tone of voice ; “ the rehearsal 
is over; what more is required of me? 1 am weary, 
why may I not go to rest in peace?” 

“Fool, obstinate idiot!” muttered the woman, but 
she looked at Rosalie, and at a glance, saw that there 
was gathering upon her countenance, that nameless, 
indescribable expression, which foretold g state of mind 
that baffled even her management; therefore softening 
her accent she said, ‘ Come, carissima, you will be so 
surprised when you 6ee the beautiful dress I have pre- 
pared for you.” 

“ I want no dress, save one,” replied Rosalie in a 
low gloomy tone. 

“Well, why did you not express your wish, and 
your taste should have been consulted. In general 
you appear quite indifferent upon the subject.” 

Rosalie’s only answer was a wild unnatural laugh, 
which sounded painfully upon every ear that heard it. 
Johnson told me, it was with the greatest difficulty, 
that at length Mvrtilla prevailed on her to submit to 
being dressed. She tried coaxing and kindness, but 
it was only at last accomplished, by the threat of Ga- 
brielli being sent for to enforce his orders. 

Poor Johnson described the scene as being very 
heart-breaking to witness, for Rosalie was so totally 
unlike herself ; the resistance she made was of a cha- 
racter so new — so completely at variance with the 
usual mild submission and resignation she displayed 
on every occasion. It plainly indicated that all was 
not right, that mental disease was increasing. 

However Myrtilla by perseverance, and a tact 
which might have been admired in a better cause, 
performed her part to perfection ; and the victim was 

VOL. l — 14 


158 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


decked most beautifully for the sacrifice ; lovely in- 
deed I heard she looked, but truly sad, to those who 
understood the expression of her countenance. And 
when, on her brilliant toilette being completed, she 
again sunk on her accustomed seat, again appeared 
dead to every surrounding object, except the plain- 
tively uttered wants of her suffering mother, to whom 
she was always most assiduously attentive, there was 
an opposition between her occupation and appear- 
ance, that scarcely needed the fixed wild look of her 
beautiful eyes, to bring to the alarmed heart the idea 
of insanity. 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


159 


CHAPTER XXV. 


Taking advantage of the license which belongs to 
biographers, and who certainly, in many cases, ap- 
pear to have at their command that very valuable 
possession, Fortunatus’s wishing cap, by that means 
transporting themselves to every nook and corner, 
and even penetrating into the inmost recesses of the 
minds of those whose characters they wish to pour- 
tray ; with this most useful freedom of a privileged 
narrator, I will again request my readers to fancy 
themselves in Hill street, at the abode of Sir Francis 
Somerville. 

The drawing-rooms were brilliantly illuminated; 
luxury and splendour, although on a small scale, were 
visible in all directions. Every thing was appropriate, 
the luxurious fauteuils, the sofa, which seemed to 
court repose; the sparkling gems of virtu, both modern 
and antique, with which the tables were covered; all 
was in keeping with the magnificent decorations of the 
apartment. The lights were placed so as to bring 
out to the greatest advantage the striking merits and 
beauties of the selection though they were for the most 
part, voluptuous pictures, which graced, or more truly 
speaking disgraced the walls, hung with the richest 
silk; and the large mirrors reflected back images at 
whose shrine the voluptuary might offer incense, but 
from which the eye of modesty must turn with out- 
raged feelings. 

The master of the house at this moment stood alone, 
in the midst of all this blaze of luxury, and it must be 
allowed that he looked formed to enjoy all the vanities 


160 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA-. 


of this world, and the blandishments of pleasure. Few 
with him had been the dark and solitary hours of life, 
which might have recalled him to reflection ; he had 
hitherto met with nothing that could destroy the dan- 
gerous illusion, and he believed he had no other busi- 
ness on earth, but to spread the feast, and call on the 
•harp and the viol to sound. There he stood, the sole 
possessor of this bright scene of enchantment, a smile 
of triumph played on his lips, and his eyes looked ani- 
mated with joyful expectation. And yet, were we to 
read the thoughts that filled his mind, the images 
which there presented themselves were those of vice 
— vice glorying over every principle of virtue. 

No doubt or fear ever for a moment suggested to 
him, that the sound of the harp and viol might some 
day be changed to the note of wo ; that the serpent 
might come forth from the roses where it has lain in 
ambush, and might give at some unexpected moment 
the fatal sting. 

To look at Sir Francis ^omerville at the period I 
now describe, it might be imagined his inward aspira- 
tions were couched in those words so beautifully ap- 
propriated to a voluptuous infidel, and given with so 
much poetical spirit in the Wisdom of Solomon. 

“ Come on, let us enjoy the good things that are 
present; let us fill ourselves with costly wines ; and let 
no flower of the spring pass by us, let us crown our- 
selves with rose-buds ere they be withered ; let none 
of us go without a part of our voluptuousness ; let us 
leave tokens of our voluptuousness in every place, for 
this is our portion, and our lot is this.” 

A knock at the door was heard, and in another in- 
stant, in bounced Templeton. 

“ Well, man cher , 1 see you are all ready — all pre- 
pared for conquest, deuced cleverly got up, you are cer- 
tainly; and yet I don’t know how it is you manage 
to look so well, for your dress is not very showy. 
Just cast your eyes upon my waistcoat, is it not hand- 
some ? I can tell you it is new for the occasion, and 
abominably extravagant too.” 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


161 


" If you will indulge in gold and silver, you must 
expect to pay for it,” said Somerville, looking for a 
moment, with contemptuous disgust, upon the gaudy 
attire of his friend ; “ but where is Fanny? I thought 
she was to come with you.” 

“Oh! she will be here in a minute; but by the by, 
I heard you had ordered the carriage for the Gabri- 
eliis, so I just look the liberty of desiring it to be ready 
half an hour sooner, and to bring her here first. I 
was sure you would have no objection, and I thought 
it would be more comfortable for Fanny, than a dirty 
hackney coach, particularly as she is rather in a- fuss 
about her new pink satin dress. But, Somerville, how 
splendid these rooms look ! I have never seen them 
lighted since they were newly furnished. Bless me ! 
I often wish I was a women; — what a fuss men make 
about the little angels! I should not object to change 
with many, I know.” 

Somerville laughed — he thought of Templeton in 
petticoats. 

“By the by, Somerville — whom do you expect to- 
night? 

“ Not another soul, but. a few of the Opera people; 
as it is, Gabrielli made the greatest favour in the 
world, of bringing the Rosalie, and I promised not to 
invite a stranger of any description, save yourself. 
Not that I had the slightest wish or intention of doing 
otherwise. I am determined to give myself every 
chance with that beautiful creature, whom the morel 
think of, the more I admire; there is something so 
very peculiar about her appearance — her style alto- 
gether. I really feel quite nervous, whilst in expecta- 
tion of her arrival; perhaps she may not fancy me. 
These beauties give themselves the airs of empresses 
— crowned queens are not more exacting, more ty- 
rannical and capricious, than they generally are.” 

“ 1 think you need not have much fear upon that 
subject, and I will give you every assistance in my 
power, my good friend,” exclaimed Templeton, in a 
most patronising accent, whilst as usual he admired 

14 * 


162 


THE YOUNG PKIMA DONNA. 


and adjusted himself before the glass ; “ and one tiling 
I promise — I will not interfere in your views, by 
making myself too agreeable/’ 

“Ah!” exclaimed Sir Francis. “I had almost for- 
gotten to request you to conduct yourself properly, 
and not to be so cursedly officious. To let you into 
a secret, I only asked Fanny, that she might keep 
you in order, and here she comes to perform her 
duty,” cried Sir Francis, as a loud knock proclaimed 
an arrival. 

Shortly afterwards the door opened, and Miss 
Fanny entered — the very fac-simile of what one 
would imagine to have been the goddess of Temple- 
ton’s idolatry; and certainly when after the prelimi- 
nary ceremonies of introduction were over, and she 
was finally seated upon one of the Persian ottomans 
of this recherche apartment. Fanny looked a little 
out of place. Her appearance did not quite accord 
with the harmony of refinement, which breathed 
throughout this temple of taste and costly luxury. 

She had a well made, active little figure, although 
inclined to embonpoint; her petticoats, in the true Co- 
lumbine style, were short for the prevailing fashion, 
and her white satin shoes were rather dirty ; but she 
had on a very smart dress, with a profusion of showy 
ornaments, all extremely like the chosen gifts of the 
gaudy looking Augustus. Her ample bust was very 
much exposed, and her light hair was made to fall in 
quantities of thin wiry ringlets on each side of her 
rosy cheeks. Taking her altogether, she was certain- 
ly pretty, but very vulgar. 

Sir Francis, who with all his sins, was most per- 
fectly high bred, and gentlemanlike in his manners, 
received her with scrupulous politeness; and the little 
lady was soon at her ease. She kindly expressed her 
admiration of all she saw around her. 

“Lord! what a beautiful room,” she said; “but 
upon my word, Sir Francis, your pictures are rather 
fie fie,” and she pretended coyly to turn away her* 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA'. 163 

head from the figure of a Venus, which was suspended 
before her. 

I shall not edify my readers with the conversation 
that ensued. Those who have frequented society, 
such as I have been describing, may easily imagine 
its tone ; and those, whose better fate it has been, not 
to mix with such characters as I have just pourtrayed, 
will, I should imagine, gladly dispense with any other 
record of it. 

Sir Francis soon became listless and abstracted, 
smiling occasionally at the sallies of the sprightly Co- 
lumbine, or as we may now designate her th afiguratite, 
for she was exalted, by having received an engage- 
ment at the Opera house. - Still her words scarcely 
reached his ears, so preoccupied were they, by lis- 
tening to the sound of every carriage as it passed the 
house. Several arrivals took, place, but they were 
not the Gabriellis. Monsieur Lafleur and a few 
others. 

At length, the well known roll of a peculiarly hung 
London carriage, was heard dashing up to the door; 
the prancing impatient horses, driven so dexterously 
by the scientific London coachman, and then the pro- 
longed knock of his own important footman. Sir 
Francis rushed towards the door, and stood in breath- 
less agitation. It was thrown open, and Gabrielli 
entered, leading in Rosalie, followed by Mrytilla. 


1:64 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA; 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


Yes, Rosalie the pure minded — the innocent, was 
thus led without the slightest pang of compunction, 
into this gilded nest of corruption. She was beauti- 
fully drest. To do Myrtilla justice, she had at least 
shown exquisite taste, in the choice of the apparel with 
which the poor girl was adorned. She wore a dress 
of soft white crape most gracefully trimmed, over a 
rich satin petticoat. Her sole ornament was a bou- 
quet of choice and bright coloured geraniums. Her 
splendid black hair was arranged with the utmost 
skill in the classic style, which so well became the 
Grecian form of her head; but instead of being braid- 
ed as usual on her forehead, was allowed to fall in 
long luxuriant ringlets. Her appearance was certain- 
ly most striking from the- perfect elegance of her bear- 
ing, and her excessive loveliness. Her complexion 
was of a description which lights up to the greatest 
perfection — that olitfe hue, which in the morning, w'hen 
not animated by colour, is perhaps less beautiful, at 
night is of the richest tint. 

As Rosalie entered the drawing-room, her counte- 
nance wore a surprised, an affrighted expression. 
She had previously suffered' much from the annoyance 
and excitement of a circumstance so totally unusual, 
as having to dress and prepare, for she knew not what, 
at so late a period of the evening. Her energies had 
already been exhausted by the labours of the morn- 
ing, and she was weary, as well as sick at heart. 
Besides which, she was always suspicious — always 
upon. the look out for some dreaded, ordeal,. through 


tHE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


1S5 

'which she would be obliged to pass — some fresh in- 
dignity or contact with people, of whom she felt a 
shrinking horror. 

In her present state of mind, she was but too much 
inclined to prejudge all those she met; she considered 
them all en masse; and although doubtless there might 
have been some very worthy persons, even amongst 
those she met behind the scenes, and in the green 
room of the Opera, still, to her prejudiced mind, all 
seemed alike, bold, licentious and depraved. 

The dread, the real terror, with which Gabrielli in- 
spired her, made her, at length, passively submit to 
place herself under the hands of Myrtilla, in order 
that she might be attired for this new occasion of ex- 
hibition, the peculiar nature.of which Rosalie scarcely 
gave herself the trouble to inquire; every thing, she 
supposed, must be equally odious. 

After the signora had completed her task, she sur- 
veyed what she had done with evident satisfaction. 

“ Now,” she said, “ only look at yourself, and if you 
are not delighted, you must be even more senseless, 
than I before imagined.” 

Rosalie lifted her weary eyes to the glass, and, 
perhaps, she even might have been a little surprised 
by what she saw reflected there — for it was remarked 
that she looked again for a moment fixedly at her 
own lovely self, and then turned away with a deep 
sigh. 

Myrtilla then desired her to go down and show her- 
self to her mother, whilst she made her own toilette. 

Poor Mrs. Elton, (for so I always called her) told 
me that she was lying as usual on the sofa, and her 
eyes were closed. On hearing some one enter, she 
opened them. 

“ I believe I had been half asleep,” she said “ and 
when I beheld the lovely object that stood before me, 
I could still have imagined my senses were deceived 
by a dream; for what a vision of beauty I looked upon! 
I had never before seen Rosalie thus attired. Her 
dress was of the most becoming description, and dis- 


166 THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 

played, to the utmost perfection, the fine form of my 
beautiful child ; and then her countenance, as she 
stood for one moment, with a sort of conscious sense 
of her own loveliness, and the effect she thought it 
would produce on me ! Oh, how sweet was the half 
smile upon her lips, which, however, had more of sad- 
ness in it, than pleasure ! Her cheeks were flushed, 
and her eyes — oh ! Mr. Leslie, cannot you imagine 
their expression, when she raised them half smiling to 
look at me, and then with that sweet virgin air of mo- 
desty so peculiar to herself, cast them down? I was 
rapt in admiration, and foolish as it may appear to 
you, I believe, whilst I contemplated this poor girl, 
the pride and pleasure which swelled in my heart, 
made me happier for a few short moments than I have 
been for years; but it did not last long, like all enjoy- 
ments derived from outward circumstances, the sun- 
beam soon passed, and the black cloud overshadowed 
the fair prospect. I thought of her perilous situation, 
of the dangers, which on all sides would encompass 
her, and the remembrance that it was I — wretched, 
deluded creajure who had led her into the snare — 
who had dragged her from the smooth path that was 
before her, into the thorny road which leads to de- 
struction. I gazed on her until tears blinded my vi- 
sion, and then, in all the misery of a broken heart, 1 
turned my head upon my pillow, there to shed the bit- 
ter drops of repentance, while Rosalie seated herself 
to watch over me.” 

Poor miserable woman ! how could I answer her, 
when I felt too strong the wretched truth of all she 
said; how could I even bid her take comfort, when I 
saw so little to be derived from Rosalie’s situation ? 

I could only pity her, as I really did, from the bottom 
of my heart, and tell her that my prayers were con- 
stant to the throne of mercy that the poor child might 
be defended by aid, such as we could not afford her. 

1 besought her also to pray, and tried to enforce upon 
her mind, that by casting all her cares, her sins, her 
sorrows upon Him, who alone careth truly for us, she 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


16? 


might hope submissively for pardon and peace for 
herself, and protection for her innocent child. 

What else had I to say 1 I could not reproach the 
dying woman. Her heart was softened and improved 
by the trial of deep adversity, and at least there was 
joy in thinking, that whilst time was stealing on, with 
a silent and rapid pace, and death would soon claim 
her as his own, and place her beyond the reach of 
hope or pardon, her sighs of penitence breathed in 
secret, and tears, shed unheeded by human eye, would 
plead for her in the sight of Him whose blessed attri- 
butes, are mercy and forgiveness. But this is a sad and 
long digression from the subject I had commenced. My 
readers must forgive me if I tell my story in my own 
old fashioned style. I find that if I check my thoughts 
and prevent their flowing in their natural hum-drum 
manner, I do not get on so well; — my memory fails 
and I grow confused. 

I left Rosalie just introduced into the drawing- 
rootfi of Sir Francis Somerville. Her feelings, upon 
that occasion, were very varied. As she entered the 
hall, the numerous servants, the lights, the air of the 
establishment altogether, struck her with the recol- 
lection of the past. She had seen nothing like it since 
she left Belmont House, and it came over her like a 
dream of by-gone days, when all that met her eyes of 
comfort, elegance and magnificence, was familiar to 
her. She experienced a kind of relief in witnessing 
this, and a feeling of security pervaded her mind as 
she ascended the stairs. Every thing around had a 
horpe-like feeling to her, at least, she felt she was about 
to be ushered into the presence — as in her inncence 
she imagined — of respectability. This could not be 
the abode of any of the Italians — the professors, to- 
wards whom she had so strong an antipathy. 

Still, however, her heart beat with timidity — with 
shrinking dread, as she proceeded, and found herself 
about to be presented to the inmates of the mansion. 
But at the door she was met by Sir Francis, who with 
a manner that was fascination itself, and which ne- 


168 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


ver appeared to such advantage, as when addressing 
a young and beautiful woman, accosted her, and with 
the most respectful attention, led her to a seat. 
When she, at length, took courage to turn her eyes 
upon him, the impression he made was most favoura- 
ble; for she saw before her, one of the handsomest men in 
London, possessing an air that at once proclaimed his 
aristocratic position in society; and there was that in- 
describable something, in his appearance, which re- 
called thoughts connected with the treasuYed secrets 
of her heart. 

Could there be a slight recollection, on her part, of 
having seen him before? or might it have been a fa- 
mily likeness between Sir Francis arid his cousins of 
the Belmont family? His mother was a sister of 
Lord Belmont, therefore the resemblance might very 
naturally have existed. However, let the charm be 
what it may, which attracted Rosalie, true it was she 
felt soothed, and although her eyes sought the ground 
with a tenacity that was tantalizing to him, who co- 
veted a glance from those beautiful orbs, still her 
heart beat with less painful throbbing. 

Her answers to his polite questions were scarcely 
audible; but Sir Francis was for a few moments per- 
fectly satisfied with his position, for he was feasting 
upon the perfection of her loveliness. Had poor Ro- 
salie detected even with her most perfect innocence, 
the impassioned gaze that was riveted upon her, 
the security and comfort she then experienced, must 
instantly have vanished. Terrified — defenceless — 
where could she, sweet lamb, have flown for refuge? 

But she saw nothing to discompose her; as I have 
before said, her eyes were fixed on the carpet; when, 
however, she was obliged to raise them to answer a 
servant who handed her coffee, she gave a furtive 
glance around the apartment, in the newly awakened 
hope — of what! she herself scarcely knew. 

Perhaps it partook of the idea, that she might re- 
cognise some friendly countenance, amongst the per- 
sons who she was aware were in the room. Arturo. 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


169 


perchance was there, and then the train of thought 
induced by the appearance of Sir Francis suggested 
to her the image of Lord Henry. 

But no — as with a searching look, her eye quickly 
travelled from face to face, she viewed with sickening 
disgust, only some professional men and women, 
amongst them, Mademoiselle Fanny \he ci-devant Fan- 
ny Gibbs of the Theatre Royal Co vent Garden; and 
as Rosalie caught a sight of her exposed bust, and 
bold looking demeanotir, she shuddered; her eyes were 
again about to seek refuge on the ground, when they 
happened to fall upon the full length pictures of im- 
morality, which, in every direction, presented them- 
selves. The loud vulgar laugh and coarse jest, met 
her startled ear ; she felt, at once, she was in that 
style of society, she instinctively abhorred. She 
turned round, and looked stedfastly into the counte- 
nance of Sir Francis, and it was with an expression 
which said as plainly as words could have conveyed, 
“ Good Heaven ! what is all this ? where am I — are 
you too like those I so much fear and dislike, or will 
you take pity on me and protect me?” 

Sir Francis silently watched the workings of this 
beautiful face; but Rosalie at length spoke, and said 
in a rapid tnanner. “Are you the master of this 
house?” 

“Yes, fair one,” he replied in the blandest tones, 
“and believe me when I declare, that not only every 
thing it contains, but that I, the monarch of all you 
survey, am at your command, anxious to do your 
will. Say only the word — every wish you express 
shall be obeyed.” 

“ Had I the power to command,” answered Rosalie 
most haughtily, “ I should order a carriage to take 
me hence immediately — from those people — from this 
house,” and as she spoke there was a flush on her 
cheek, and a majesty that seemed to pervade her 
whole bearing, which daunted even Sir Francis. 

“ It must be acting,” he thought, “ but it is the 
finest and most true to nature I ever beheld.” 

VOL. i. — 15 


170 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


He answered, “I regret Signora Rosalie, that I 
have been unfortunate in not selecting the society you 
like; but I imagined the ladies and gentlemen who are 
here, might have been amongst your friends — ac- 
quaintances at least.” 

“Friends !” she exclaimed; “ however,” she added 
quickly as she saw Fanny approaching from an inner 
room, “ you cannot be quite the same as the others. 
There is an indescribable something about you, unlike 
those with whom I have been in the habit of associ- 
ating lately, so for mercy’s sake! spare me, if possi- 
ble, from insult, from what I feel I must meet with 
here — alone — without one creature, to whom I can 
fly for refuge.” 

“ Rely upon me, loveliest of the lovely!” but Rosa- 
lie looked displeased. 

“ Call me Miss Elton. Sir, that is my name.” 

“Well then, Miss Elton, hear me; on my knees 1 
could thank you for bestowing on me so honoured a 
privilege. I will indeed protect you — none of these 
persons shall annoy you, confide only in me, for here 
I swear that I am ready to pledge myself for ever 
your most devoted slave.” 

Rosalie opened her large eyes and gazed wildly on 
him. His manner, as well as his words, puzzled her 
but after a moment’s pause she said more calmly, 
“ Thank you; then, if you please, remain by my side 
during the time I stay in this house.” 


the young prima donna. 


171 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


The exultation with which Sir Francis heard these 
flattering words will be readily imagined. His plans 
were then, indeed, proceeding with a degree of suc- 
cess, which even exceeded the extent of his hopes. 

Already he fancied he had found favour in the sight 
of this beautiful creature; who, he quickly discovered, 
possessed a mind of no common description. Indeed, 
he soon became completely puzzled by her; how was 
it possible he thought, his own laxity of morals added 
to the general opinion he entertained of the weakness 
and frailty of the fair sex, inflaming his reflections, 
that a girl, who had lived so long under the pro- 
tection of such a profligate as Gabrielli, could re- 
main untainted in mind? It was quite out of the 
question. 

He did not know that innate modesty and purity 
derived from nature, and refined by education, wraps 
its possessor in its impenetrable folds, and shield her 
from the taint of contamination, like the thorns which 
grow about the rose, proving at once its ornament and 
safeguard. 

Still, however, he saw she was totally unlike any- 
one he had met iDefore. Oh, should he then be the 
first to touch her heart, to warm it with those feelings 
which might not as yet have been excited; what 
triumph ! 

The evening was passing to Rosalie with a degree 
of enjoyment she could scarcely have imagined possi- 
ble. Sir Francis’s manner towards her was all that 
respect and attention could convey. He devoted him- 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


172 

self solely to her amusement, showing an anxiety to 
please and gratify her, which could not fail to be flat- 
tering to a heart, little accustomed to meet with so 
much kindness and consideration. 

Sir Francis speedily discovered that she could con- 
verse upon other topics save those of frivolity and non- 
sense: indeed, that she was new and strange to the ordi- 
nary routine of agreeable nothings, with which he was 
wont to regale the ears of his fair friends. He found 
she was awake upon subjects of less trifling import. 
She could talk of Italy with good taste ; she apprecia- 
ted, arid was pleased with many of the specimens of 
the scientific curiosities with which the room abound- 
ed ; fain would she have looked at the really beauti- 
ful pictures that adorned the apartment, but they were 
mingled with those, so little calculated for the eye of 
a modest female, that she shrunk, abashed, from the 
contemplation. 

Sir Francis, perceiving the genuine feeling of dis- 
comfort they occasioned her, with a sudden impulse, 
whispered to one of the footmen, who was attending 
with refreshments — “Go, this instant, and tell Jen- 
nings, that before l.e announces supper, the picture 
over the chimney-piece, the one opposite, and that 
which hangs over the door, must be all taken down ; 
— now see that this is done immediately.” 

The man stared, but said — “Yes Sir Fancis;” 
however, it appears, the order could not be credited 
by the pompous butler, who, presently made his entr&e 
into the drawing-room, and bowing profoundly, beg- 
ged to speak a word to his master. 

“ What the devil do you want?” exclaimed the im- 
patient Baronet, who was just preparing to lead Rosa- 
lie to the piano-forte. 

If you please, Sir Francis, I did not quite under- 
stand the order you gave to Thomas.” 

“Then, you must be confoundedly stupid; so go 
down, and have it executed and he turned from the 
discomfited maitre d' hotel, and again approached Ro- 
salie, all fascination and softness. 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


173 


She had received a summons, from Gabrielli, to at- 
tend him at the piano-forte, and although Sir Francis, 
doing violence to his own wishes, entreated that she 
would not sing unless she really did not dislike it, she 
stood too greatly in awe of her tyrant, for a moment 
to dare to disobey his commands. Gabrielli accom- 
panied her, in a song from the opera, in which she 
was to appear on the following Saturday. 

She had been so long accustomed to display her ta- 
lent, indeed, from her earliest and happiest days, it had 
been so familiar to her, that it was the cause of no an- 
noyance ; perhaps, even, in the present irritable state of 
her feelings, she would rather sing, than sit alone with 
her sad thoughts. Through that harmonious medium, 
she could pour forth her sentiments, her sorrows ; 
many of the words blended with the woes she felt, and, 
as every note seemed to rise from the very inmost 
recesses of her heart, when the sufferings of which 
she sung appeared to be her own tale of sorrow, the 
effect she produced, may be faintly imagined when she 
pronounced the words — “ Infelice, per le speme piu 
non v’k!” 

The thrilling sensation it made upon the sensibility 
of those who heard it, is scarcely to be credited. 
Sir Francis stood before the lovely cantatrice; his 
arms folded, like one entranced; his eyes were fixed 
upon her, and he really looked pale with emotion. 
The extraordinary animation of her countenance — 
the thrilling notes of her voice, which, although power- 
ful, were of the most plaintive expression — almost told 
her own unhappy story. 

True it is, the hitherto hardened man of the -world 
felt, at this moment, as he had never felt before. It 
seemed as if a halo of innocence enveloped the poor 
girl, which, even he, daring profligate as he was, ac- 
knowledged to himself to be sacred. He felt his 
heart swell with a sensation very unusual to him. 
Could it be possible, that he looked upon beauty, 
for the first time, with a softened, a purified heart?; 
for, whilst gazing on the interesting creature before 
15 * 


174 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


him, he was startled — ashamed. But, so it was; his 
eyes were filled with tears — eyes which had never, 
till now, been used but as slaves to his desires — which 
had only looked on loveliness with the withering blight 
of vice. 

Whilst under the influence of the purest fascination, 
Sir Francis felt that his plans were falling to the 
ground. There was an indescribable manner about 
Rosalie, a genuine air of modesty, which appeared to 
have protected her, even from licentious thoughts ; — 
a dignity in her innocence, which had the power of 
altering the course of the ideas, even of the profligate 
Sir Francis; and, if we could have read the thoughts 
that flew rapidly across his mind, they would have 
been in some such strain as this : — 

“ I wish I knew more about the girl : at this mo- 
ment, I would not, for my life, let her perceive my in- 
tentions towards her. I can see, at a glance, that she 
is purity, itself ; and, now I remember, she was brought 
up by those strict Belmonts, and I can trace in her 
some of their sentiments. I don’t doubt but that I have 
blundered the whole business. Fool! that I was! to 
bring her here with such a set about her. Her hor- 
ror of them is unfeigned, and no wonder! — to think of 
her elegance — her refinement, — and look at them !” 
and his eye, at that instant, fell upon the blowsy, ex- 
posed Fanny ; he could have gnashed his teeth, with 
disgust, at his own mismanagement. 

“ If she once begins to suspect me, it is all over 
with my hopes. I must, at least, endeavour to keep 
up her present opinion, that I am of a superior order 
to those, into whose society the poor little thing has 
been so unwittingly thrown. She clung to me for 
protection from them. I must find out more about her. 
Good Heavens ! how lovely she is! and oh! that voice! 
— By Jove! she will be the mark at which all Lon- 
don will aim ; — nothing like her has ever yet been 
seen !” 

Thus soliloquized Sir Francis, who had, in a very 
short time, drank deep draughts of love, and was 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


175 


beginning to work himself up into a state, nearly ap- 
proaching to torture. 

Rosalie ended her strain, and he was, in an instant, 
at her side, and his arm was, with empressement, of- 
fered to her. Supper being announced, he led her to 
the dining-room. 

The repast was in character with the tone of lux- 
ury, which pervaded all the establishment ; but, in 
these, days of gastronomic perfection, I will not at- 
tempt to describe it. It is easy to imagine, how 
recherche would bo the banquet, prepared by one of 
the first French artistes, and where the wealth of the 
owner made every extravagant superfluity attain- 
able. 

It was highly enjoyed by most of the assembled 
guests, upon whom, however, with the exception of 
Templeton, the very epicurean delicacies of the feast 
were rather thrown away ; for the greatest part, pro- 
bably, valued eating more from the quantity, than the 
exquisite quality of the viands. 

Notwithstanding, Champagne, and other choice 
wines flowed most freely and rapidly, under the di- 
rection of Templeton, who sat, in great dignity and 
exultation at the bottom of the table, and was desired 
to do the honours, by Sir Francis, who was too much 
engaged with Rosabel-tempting her delicate appe- 
tite with assiduous care, and overwhelming her with 
attentions — to regard any of the party. 

Templeton was in his glory. There he sat, with 
his coat thrown back, displaying his gorgeous waist- 
coat,, brooches and studs, his face more red than 
usual, from the exertions he was making to do the 
agreeable. He was “ redolent of smiles,” as he 
glanced, from side to side, with patronising im- 
portance. 

On his right sat Fanny; on his left a fat, good na- 
tured-looking Signora, and he was feeding them to 
their heart’s content. 

Certainly our friend Templeton was, at this mo- 
ment, much happier than the lord of the feast, for his 


176 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


was unmixed bliss. Sir Francis had -whispered to 
him, “Do what you like, order as you please, 
Templeton, only don’t bore me, and keep those d — d 
people as much out of my way as you can and the 
Baronet seated himself at his own board, with Rosa- 
lie by his side, and they were as totally apart from 
the others, as if they had been in a separate room. 

They were both absorbed by their conversation, 
which was held in a low tone of voice. Sir Francis 
continued to make Rosalie talk, and at once gained 
her confidence by informing her that he was the ne- 
phew of Lady Belmont. The pleasure this informa- 
tion gave her, and the delightful surprise it occa- 
sioned was so great, that her reserve immediately 
gave way. She was in the presence of one who bore 
so near an affinity to her beloved friends — what com- 
fort ! 

The chain which held her silent was loosened, and 
her answers to his numerous questions were given 
with unrestrained freedom. Soon he learned the 
short history of her life, the happiness she had en- 
joyed, and the abject misery of her present condi- 
tion; her detestation of the profession she was forced, 
against her will, to embrace. 

Sir Francis, however, soon discovered that the pro- 
tecting eye of the Belmont family, still hovered over 
the poor girl ; their hands were still ready to stretch 
forth to rescue, to relieve her; the identity of the old 
quiz with the shovel hat was made known to him; 
and every word she uttered, conveyed to him more 
thoroughly the conviction, that never before had he 
fixed his hopes on an object, so difficult to be ob- 
tained. The more impediments that crowded around 
this cherished scheme, the more did he feel certain 
his happiness was completely connected with- his suc- 
cess ; and, at length, when the party broke up, after 
he had carefully wrapped Rosalie in her shawl and 
handed her into his carriage, he returned to the draw- 
ing-room, and threw himself upon a. sofa. It did 
not, however, appear that this action was induced by 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


177 


weariness, for his eyes were bright and wide open. 
He seemed to meditate deeply. ^ 

Templeton, who had safely stowea Fanny in a 
coach with some of the other guests, returned, ex- 
pecting to have some snug chat with his friend over the 
occurrences of the evening, but this gentleman waved 
him off in a very impatient tone of voice, “ 1 am 
tired, Templeton, so don’t torment me.” 

“ Why surely you are not going to bed at this time 
of night ; it is only half past twelve; your cab is at 
the door.” 

Well then,” replied Sir Francis, “ you had better 
get into it, and take yourself off.” 

“ Very well, mon cher ,” said the good natured pup- 
py, who certainly must have been of the spaniel breed, 
so little he minded being kicked; and he was about to 
depart, when his friend called out, “ I say Templeton, 
you may come to breakfast here to-morrow.” With 
this soothing unction Templeton took advantage of the 
cab, and left the baronet to his own reflections. 


178 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

“ How weak, how foolish you must think me, dear- 
est Certrude ! said Lady Constance, as seated by her 
friend on a sofa in the dressing-room, she leant her 
head upon her shoulder to conceal the tears, which 
were still trickling down her cheeks; “ but, perhaps,” 
she continued, “ if you could understand all that was 
going forward here,” and she^ressed her hand to her 
heart, “ you would forgive this demonstration of feel- 
ings, which spring from the depth of that affection, 
which fills my heart even to bursting.” 

Gertrude fondly pressed the fair speaker to her bo- 
som, and then said, “ Believe me, dearest, I enter 
most fully into your every sentiment; I know what it 
is to love, and I am quite aware how quick-sighted, 
how sensitive it renders its enslaved victim; creating 
miseries in every look and action of the one beloved, 
which falls short of the overwhelming tide of warm 
attachment, which it almost selfishly expects in re- 
turn for the devotion of one’s own devoted heart.” 

“ Then you will agree with me, Gertrude, with 
your knowledge of my love for your brother, that 
there was something in Fitz-Ernest’s manner this 
morning, which was very chilling; oh! I shudder 
when I think of it. An ice bolt striking upon my 
heart, is the only language, in which I can describe 
the effect it had upon me ; but do you know, dear 
friend, it is not the first time, the appalling idea has 
crossed my terrified imagination, that I am not alto- 
ther the model your brother had formed for himself, 
as the beau ideal of what he admires in woman; and 
oh Gertrude ! do not despise me when I confess,” 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


179 


and here she rose and advanced towards the mantel- 
* piece, upon which she leant her elbow, and with her 
hand shaded her face, “ when I say, that I am so 
mean, so little minded as to feel a sensation, I fear too 
closely allied to the despicable passion of jealousy. This 
Rosalie? speak, tell me at once,” and she looked round 
and fixed her eyes upon the countenance of her friend, in 
the most imploring manner; “ be candid with me, but 
oh ! do not keep me in suspense, have you any reason 
to believe, that your brother feels for her, more than 
the common interest you all seem to entertain in so 
extraordinary a degree towards that unfortunate girl. 
Unfortunate did I say ? at this moment,” she added, 
with the deepest sigh, “ I should call her thrice blessed ! 
for I am but too truly convinced, that she occupies the 
thoughts of Fitz-Ernest, that his heart is so interested 
in her cause, so kindly open to her distresses, that 
willingly would I, the high-born, prosperous, favoured 
child of fortune, ah ! how gladly would I' give up all 
those worldly distinctions, and become poor and des- 
titute, so that I might only be regarded by him with 
pity, that feeling which is so near akin to the most 
tender love.” 

“ Poor Rosalie!” exclaimed Gertrude with sadness 
in her accents, “ as Mr. Leslie often says, she seems 
to have been indeed born to trouble; for not only her- 
self, but others suffer on her account. There is cer- 
tainly something very extraordinary in the nature of 
the feeling which draws us towards her, and believe 
me when I say, I think Fitz-Ernest only participates 
in it as we have done; he has not seen her for some 
years, Mr. Leslie strictly forbad our meeting until af- 
ter she has made her first sacrifice, poor girl ! until 
the dreaded next Saturday is past; therefore he only 
remembers Rosalie as the little pet of his boyish 
days, for she was always his special protdgee. My 
other brothers used sometimes to love to torment her, 
to make her occasionally the subject of their mis- 
chievous sport. Fitz-Ernest was ever older than his 
years, and he never entered into any plan which di- 


180 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


rected itself in the slightest degree towards hurting 
the feelings of any living being; far less those of a 
poor defenceless little girl, who was dependant — at 
least, not quite in the same grade as ourselves. Ro- 
salie at all times sought his protection, defied the 
other tormenting children, if she could only nestle her- 
self closely by the side of her champion Fitz-Ernest. 
It was, of course, with great interest that he watched 
her daily improvement ; and her sweetness, her wild 
playfulness, certainly endeared her much to my bro- 
ther, as well as to us all.” 

Constance still sighed, and looked most sad. “ You 
cannot wonder,” continued Gertrude, “ that Fitz-Er- 
nest still feels much solicitude on her account ; par- 
ticularly as he knows she is suffering greatly. Her 
present position is melancholy to contemplate, for it 
is one of shrinking distaste to a girl of her very acute 
sensibility. You cannot imagine hoVv nervous I feel 
at the idea of Saturday : but I must go and see the 
darling girl make her debut, although I am sure the 
sight of Rosalie, pursuing a course from which I know 
her very soul revolts, will ifearly break my heart ; but 
still, by a sort of fascination, I am drawn towards the 
spot, and go I must. Understanding my own feel- 
ings, I can so well account for those of Fitz-Ernest.” 

“Yes — but — ” still persisted Constance, “ I hear so 
much of her excessive beauty, that my heart mis- 
gives me when I look at myself in this glass, and 
see reflected, an image which possesses so few attrac- 
tions !” * 

“ Oh fie, Constance !” said Gertrude, casting a re- 
proachful glance at her friend, “ this is not like your- 
self. I should almost imagine that you were resort- 
ing to a subterfuge, unworthy of the dignity of Con- 
stance Delaval — unlike your own candid straight for- 
ward character ; that you were endeavouring to ex- 
tract an empty compliment.” 

“No Gertrude; heaven knows ! that is not my airm 
If you were to look into my heart, at least, you would 
find that I was unfeignedly humble, nothwithstanding 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


181 


all my other imperfections; but I will allow, I am un- 
amiable to-day ; you would, however, compassionate 
me, if you could conceive the sort of shock my heart 
has sustained; the averted eye, the cold abstracted 
manner, which this morning tortured my very soul, 
told a tale that the feelings of Fitz-Ernest were less 
warmly attached than mine. But do not mistake my 
sentiments, I am not mean or ungenerous. I feel truly 
for this poor sweet girl, although perchance, she may 
for a time have driven me from the best and largest 
place in Fitz-Ernesl’s memory; but oh ! how gladly 
would I show to him that I am as ready as he is, to 
stretch forth my hands to her succour — to her assist- 
ance, to bestow upon her a sister’s kindness ; any sa- 
crifice would I make to befriend her — save one,” and 
here again she sighed mournfully. “ I cannot allow 
her any portion of the heart of Fitz-Ernest ; unless I 
possess it solely, existence will cease to be a blessing 
to me.” 

“ Dearest Constance,” exclaimed Gertrude, as she 
drew towards her, and warmly embraced the fair 
girl. “ You speak sweetly, but sadly, much more so 
than the occasion calls forth. I am not a very able 
adviser on such a subject, but I should say, with my 
knowledge of Fitz-Ernest, that I think it would delight 
him, if you were to express these kind feelings towards 
Rosalie — if you would, as it were, go hand and hand 
with him in this work of charity and take part in the 
discussions we so constantly have upon the subject. 

I certainly will now confess, that the idea has some- 
times struck me, that you, who are generally so alive 
to every thing which we regard with interest, have 
been more silent and less ardent upon this, our fa- 
vourite and most anxious theme. Oh Constance,” ex- 
claimed Gertrude, turning very red, as a thought ap- 
peared to flash across her mind, “ I could almost scold 
you, thus to misconstrue Fitz-Ernest. Do you not 
know that we are rather a proud race ? and will not 
that conviction be sufficient to assure you on one 
point? Do you think, for a moment, that Fitz- 
vol. i. — 16 


182 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


Ernest, my brother, would ever forget who he is ; 
what is his destiny? The heir of an illustrious fa- 
mily, which it is his prerogative by birth-right to sus- 
tain !” 

Whilst thus speaking, the high-born girl looked in- 
deed as if all the pride of ancestry was hovering round 

her. 


“ Well, so be it,” cried Constance meekly, “ heaven 
grant indeed, that 1 am making miseries for myself, 
and that these dreadful thoughts are but fabrics of my 
too susceptible brain.” And casting her dove-like eyes 
to heaven, as if for support, she continued, “ But oh 
what agony to love, as I do, and to feel even for an 
instant the dread of unrequited affection ; — it is tor- 
ture too great to be imagined, save by the unfortunate 
wretch who has endured it.” 

The conversation was here interrupted. A servant 
knocked at the door, to say that the carriage was 
waiting for Lady Constance, and the two friends, with 
much tenderness, parted. 


/ 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA, 


183 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


When Fitz-Ernest left me, after our warm discus- 
sion, I was for a time — I may say overcome, almost 
to weakness. My love for the young Belmonts was 
so great, and certainly the feeling I entertain for Fitz- 
Ernest so far stronger than every other, that it was a 
mixture of disappointment, vexation and sorrow, which 
struggled in my breast. 

Fitz-Ernest had ever appeared until this unhappy 
morning, so far above all others, so noble, so kind ! 
Never before had I seen him give way to any ebulli- 
tion of unwarrantable temper. I sat for some time in 
a very dejected mood, and could have exclaimed, 
from the bitterness of my thoughts, “ The spirit of a 
man will sustain his infirmity, but a wounded spirit 
who can bear?” 

And when I recollected all the numerous perfec- 
tions of my young friend, I sighed to think that I had 
discovered one human weakness in so mortifying a 
manner. But it was not very long that sentiments, 
even bordering upon anger, against Fitz-Ernest, could 
hold their place in my too loving heart. Soon I found 
myself making .excuses for him; my resentment turn- 
ing into the old channel of my admiration, lost itself 
in that most overwhelming tide; and I began to argue 
with myself in some such manner as this, “ After all, 
it is but natural, and certainly noble in the youth; I 
must not think so seripusly of this, his first and only 
dereliction from the most affectionate respect. I am 
persuaded his mind is upright, and is it not a beautiful 


184 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


trait thus to see this young man, whom prosperity 
might well have rendered selfish, anxious to befriend 
the oppressed. He knows that poor Rosalie is suf- 
fering, and the test of true friendship is constancy in 
the hour of danger — support in the season of distress. 
These are indeedits important duties — its most sacred 
claims. Why should I have given a second motive 
to Fitz-Ernest’s intentions'? Shame upon my own 
sinful thoughts! His views were certainly rather vi- 
sionary, but no doubt they were virtuous.” And so I 
mused, until I had fairly shifted the blame upon my 
own shoulders, accusing myself of unjustly condemn- 
ing my long cherished favourite. 

Just when I had begun to feel a little soothed, and 
calmed, the door slowly opened, and Arturo appeared, 
looking paler and more dejected than usual. Really, 
when lie stood before me thus, the very picture of 
wo, I experienced, for the first time, perhaps, some- 
thing of a feeling of vexation, and almost groaned 
aloud rather than sighed, when I thought to myself — 
“ Well, am I never to be at rest? Here is another of 
my self-created cares.” 

However, poor fellow! it was only for a moment 
that I felt thus churlish ; it would have been impossi- 
ble to have looked upon his beautiful countenance — so 
wan— so dejected— and not have been melted. I bade 
him sit down, and, for a brief space, we were both si- 
lent. I saw that he was struggling with some com- 
munication which he was desirous to make, but he 
seemed to lack the energy to speak. « Well, Artu- 
ro,” I, at length said, “ how fares it with you?” 

“ Not well, not well, Signor mio,” he answered, in 
an agitated tone, of voice; “I am wretched, as 
usual.” 

And, indeed, he looked what he uttered, for never 
was a being so altered as this poor youth, since the 
day I first saw his joyous careless countenance at 
Naples. 

“ But, what is it, dear Arturo?” I said, “ you, sure- 
ly, are wrong thus to give way to despondency. Did 


f he Young prima donna. 


185 


you not promise me that you would pray for comfort 
—that you would look above for strengthening aid, to 
support you through a world, to you so distasteful — 
so full of trouble?” 

“ Yes, Signor,” replied the youth, and the deep 
pathos of his voice, aided by his own musical lan- 
guage, made the words he uttered sound still more 
eloquent; “ truly, I do pray. I do endeavour to look 
for consolation at the throne of the -Almighty, but 
there, even, I meet with discouragement; for, the Su- 
preme Being, to whom I address myself, is a great — 
an awful being ! his nature is to us unknown; he 
dwells in the secret places of eternity, and is surround- 
ed by clouds and darkness. We hear his tremendous 
voice in the thunder! and in every commotion of the 
elements, we behold the irresistible law of his power! 
To such a being, I, a poor, insignificant worm, can 
only look with dismay. I contemplate him, with 
awful and mysterious reverence, which overpowers 
my confidence and trust.” And, as he spoke, his 
countenance wore, more than ever, the expression of 
the most profound despondency. 

“ Dearest Arturo,” 1 said, as I warmly pressed his 
hand, which was cold and damp from nervousness ; 
“do not, I beseech you, view, what ought to be so 
great a solace to you, with such an eye of distrust. 
Look not upon the Almighty as surrounded by his 
sterner attributes, but think of him as a God of the 
tenderest compassion and pity, and regarding him, 
thus, as a father, as a friend, it will prove a shade and 
softening to the awful greatness of the divinity. It 
will bring down His goodness to the level of your own 
conception, and fit it to be the object of your humble 
hope. When we hear the voice of tenderness con- 
veyed by His own words, our hearts must be com- 
forted. Distrust and dismay no longer stand before 
us. We can draw near Him as our Father in Hea- 
ven, before whom we may, in humble confidence, pour 
forth our every sorrow; and his compassion, depend 
upon it, my dear young friend, imparts a kind regard 
16 * 


186 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA/ 


to the circumstances of the unhappy; and extends it- 
self to our moral and spiritual concerns, in a like 
manner to our natural and external distresses.” 

« But it is not for myself I wish to supplicate 
mercy of heaven, dear Signor; you know it is for 
that I would weary heaven with my prayers.” 

“Arturo,” I answered, and I looked reproachfully 
at the ardent boy; “ your own soul is your first con- 
cern, and, remember, you are committing a sin, in 
thus creating for yourself an idol, which you set above 
every other consideration — even your own eternal sal- 
vation. My dear young friend,” I continued, with 
much gravity, “ by disquieting yourself so much upon 
the subject of Rosalie, you are encumbering yourself 
with a load which is not yours to bear, nor have you 
strength to support it; and, perhaps, the miseries you 
foresee, may never be suffered to arrive. The hand 
of mercy may either turn into a different course, the 
black cloud that appears to carry the storm, or, even, 
should it burst over the devoted head, the same com- 
passionate l;and, may allow it to bring under its dark 
w : ing some secret consolation : be assured, the great 
rule, both of religion and wisdom, is to do our duty, 
and leave the issue to heaven; waiting, with sub- 
mission, for what Providence shall see fit to ap- 
point.” 

“ But, Signor,” vehemently exclaimed Arturo, start- 
ing from his seat, whilst a flash of colour passing over 
his pale cheeks, lighted his dark eye with fearful 
splendour, “ would you have me tamely wait, and see 
destruction bursting upon the head of Rosalie? — But 
you know not what happened last night, or you could 
not be thus tranquil.” 

“ Tell me what 1” I cried, terrified by his words and 
gestures. 

He continued, in a rapid manner — “There is a man 
— an Italian, who lodges near me; he came into my 
room this morning; he knows — has seen, how I adore 
Rosalie ; his heart is kind, and he pities me. He told 
me, and my blood froze in my veins as he spoke, and 



THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


187 


mv very heart ceased its pulsations; he told me, that 
demon, Gabrielli, who would sell, without a moment’s 
hesitation, his own soul for gold, had taken Rosalie, 
last night, to the house of a profligate young noble- 
man, who is desperately enamoured of her beauty. 
He, and the fiend Myrtilla, were bribed to do this 
deed ; my informer knows this to be a fact, for he 
overheard the whole of the negotiation, which occur- 
red after a rehearsal at the Opera-house. The victim 
was adorned, and led to the infernal sacrifice, and 
there her charms were gazed upon by the eye of vice; 
she was brought into contact with persons whose cha- 
racters are tainted. What can be the result of all 
this?” and, with frantic violence, he continued — “And 
would you have me wait patiently, and abide the con- 
sequence? — No! rather than see that virgin purity sul- 
lied by communication with those wretches, my hand 
shall be stretched forth to rescue her — no matter in 
what manner. I would do any thing to save her, al- 
though by the deed I were lost ! But, now, I have 
come to you in the first instance; you must lose no 
time in going to her, and then you may ascertain all 
from her own lips. It distracts me, when 1 think of 
what she must have endured. I, who know her so 
well.” 

Whilst he was speaking, I had already risen, and 
was hastily preparing to set out, my impatience now 
almost equalling that of Arturo. 


188 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


I soon reached the abode of Rosalie, and was ush- 
ered into her presence. I expected to find her in a 
state of depression, and dreaded what I should have 
to encounter; but, to my great surprise, on my en- 
trance she rose from the piano-forte, before which she 
was seated — not, however, until I had heard a few 
clear, cheerful notes; and when she came forward to 
greet me, a bright smile, such as I now rarely, saw, 
was upon her lips. 

And oh! it was a relief to me, for Arturo’s commu- 
nication had agitated me dreadfully, and I came pre- 
pared for a scene of distress. 

“ My child,” I exclaimed, somewhat hastily, “ I am 
so glad to find you thus; Arturo has been with me, 
and from what he told me, I was uncomfortable about 
you.” 

“ What could he have said?” she replied; “ I have 
scarcely seen him for some days past, and nothing 
new had then occurred.” 

“But, Rosalie, where were you last night?” 

“ I was just going to tell you, dear Mr. Leslie ; but 
you need not look so concerned for me; I do not know 
when I passed so agreeable an evening. I was taken 
to the house of Sir Francis Somerville. Oh! at first 
how I disliked and dreaded the idea of it! I was 
wretched, anticipating I know not what evil, but I 
was most delightfully surprised, for the evening pass- 
ed with somewhat of pleasure. First of all I must tell 
you, that Sir Francis is Lord Belmont’s nephew — 
cousin to my darling friends; this knowledge at once in- 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


189 


spired me with ease and tranquillity, for he is, in some 
respects, like them — polished and gentlemanlike — 
winning in his manners. Oh ! such a contrast to those 
with whom I have lately associated ; and he was so 
kind and attentive to me. It appeared as if he wished 
to shield me, from all the horrid people who surround- 
ed me; would you believe it, dear sir, I almost enjoyed 
the evening I so much dreaded. But why do you 
look so grave, I have longed so to see you, to tell you 
this; but you do not seem to enter into it; how is it; 
tell me, my kind friend?” 

“ I am always delighted my dear child,” I replied, 
“ to see a smile upon your countenance.” I paused, 
scarcely knowing how to proceed or what to say. It 
seemed cruel, at that moment, to chase away the 
transient gleam of cheerfulness, by the dark surmises 
which it was, perhaps, my duty to present to her 
mind. I hesitated, for was it wise to suggest to her, 
fears, which after all might have no firmer founda- 
tion, ^han the excited imagination of the young Ital- 
ian? so I led her on to speak more fully of the events 
of the last evening, and she seemed well pleased to 
dwell upon them. 

She gave me a full account of all she had seen; the 
beautiful specimens of art, the collection of antiques, 
of choice engravings, the books that had attracted 
her notice, and which Sir Francis had promised to 
lend her, she expatiated upon the elegance of the 
house ; every thing reminding her so strongly of past 
days. 

She then told me how kindly Sir Francis had con- 
versed with her, how attentive lie had been, guarding 
her from all the rest of the company, and assiduously 
endeavouring to amuse and reassure her. And more 
she would have said, but we were interrupted by the 
entrance of Gabrielli, who came in, evidently with a 
prying air of suspicion. He certainly seemed relieved 
by seeing the countenance of Rosalie, the expression 
of which he tolerably well understood. He knew that, 
si t least, shq had not been complaining, and an expres- 


190 


THE YOUNG PRIM A DONNA. 


sion of satisfaction crossed his odious features. He 
almost immediately began to speak of the morrow, the 
day so dreaded of Rosalie’s appearance. 

It appeared as if for a short time she had forgotten 
the fearful subject, for the words of the Italian seemed 
to fall with a startling effect upon her ear; she shud- 
dered and shaded her face with both her hands. Pre- 
sently she turned towards Gabrielli, and I saw that 
even in that short time, her countenance had totally 
changed its expression, and she said in that quick 
manner which I always hated to hear, “ Signor, after 
to-morrow, I shall be at liberty to see my friends; you 
have promised this — remember!” and the word Ricor- 
daie was pronounced in a tone of voice, which thrilled 
through all my veins. 

Gabrielli, with a sardonic smile answered, “ Your 
friends, Rosalie, may not wish to hold farther com- 
munion with one of your profession, which they seem 
to regard with such disgust; you had better at once 
give them up. Why should you so weakly cling to 
them? There is a much more brilliant and agreeable 
field open to you, than having to play the humble 
companion, to the haughty stiff-necked aristocracy of 
this proud country.” 

Rosalie’s eyes actually flashed fire. She arose, 
and stood exactly before Gabrielli, and fixing a most 
piercing look upon him, said in a low distinct tone, 
“ Tell me at once, is it your intention to debar me 
from seeing my beloved friends? Answer me this 
question.” 

The man was evidently quailing beneath her glance, 
but he replied, “ I can see no use in such an intercourse; 
to a person situated as you are, it will only unsettle 
your ideas, and unfit you for your profession. What 
can an actress have in common with the lords and 
ladies of the land? Recollect, now you belong to me 
— are mv property, and me alone you must obey.” 

“Cruel! cruel!” exclaimed the poor girl, wringing 
her hands; and then a burst of tears succeeded. But 
in another moment, she had brushed away the pearly 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


191 


drops, and with a calmness which surprised me, thus 
spoke; “ Signor Gabrielli, I know that I am, in a mea- 
sure, in your power, but even you are aware that 
there is a -spirit within me, which when once roused, 
is fierce and intractable — which will not bend to insult 
or oppression. I am certainly weaker, than when 
first your cruelty brought my spirit of defiance into 
action; my energies are well nigh exhausted, but still, 
the fire is not extinguished, the last flash will blaze as 
brightly if you rouse the flame, and its effects may be 
equally destructive to your views. I can endure much, 
if so I will it, but you are also in my power. I will 
sing, if it is my pleasure; if not, my voice is mute — 
silent as the grave, promise that you will allow me 
liberty of action, and I will do your behest to the ut- 
most of my abilities. I will now solemnly bind my- 
self to you until I am of the age of twenty-one, if I may 
make my own conditions, but if not, you may abide 
by the consequences.” 

Whilst she spoke, there was a kind of majesty — -of 
command, about her, which appeared to daunt even 
the ruffian, although he bit his lips with impotent rage, 
and then said, with a voice which trembled with 
smothered anger, “ What folly — ^what childish imper- 
tinence is this? Do you flatter yourself, because this 
old man is present, that I will endure to be insulted 
by a wayward girl?” 

“Rosalie,” I at length interposed, dreading the ef- 
fect of the agitation, which I saw increasing to a 
frightful pitch, “for Heaven’s sake, calm yourself! to 
what advantage can all this excitement tend? — Conti- 
nue, my child, to bow meekly to your fate.” 

“ Mr. Leslie,” she answered, “what I am now doing 
is of vital importance to my future existence; without 
I succeed, 1 cannot endure my weary life. Signor 
Gabrielli,” she again said, “ listen to me, for the last 
time. It is my wish to have free access to Lord Bel- 
mont’s family. If you will, in writing, sign your con- 
sent, I will also, in the same manner, pledge myself to 
be your slave, as far as my musical talents are con- 


192 


THE YOUNG FRIMA DONNA. 


cerned, until I am twenty-one. Three long years!” 
she ejaculated, as if thinking aloud, and she sighed 
bitterly; but then added, with a wild, ringing laugh — 
“ but they will soon be over! — oh! how soon! Signor, 
do you hear me?” she continued, for Gabrielli had 
walked to a window, where he stood,- averting a 
countenance upon which revenge and hatred were 
most plainly depicted. 

He continued silent, and, during this interval, I 
tried, in as few words as possible, to dissuade her from 
making so rash a promise; but she waved me oflf, im- 
patiently, saying — “ Oh! do not — do not prevent me ; 
I know that it is the only course to pursue. Signor 
Gabrielli, if you do not accede to my proposal, listen 
to the alternative — I will not sing at all. You may 
imprison me — starve me — may even strike me, as you 
have done before, but, still, I will remain — voiceless 
— senseless! You may drag me to the theatre, but it 
will be an automaton form! — I shall only hurl disgrace 
upon you; — but, accede to my simple proposition — 
sign what I shall write, and I, in my turn, will prove 
true and honourable to my engagement. I will do 
my best — and you know what that is.” 

Gabrielli was actually livid with rage; but he saw 
the determination of Rosalie’s countenance, therefore, 
seizing a pen, he said: in a voice of suppressed fury 
— “ Presumptuous girl! what am I to write?” 

She dictated, in a clear, distinct tone, a document 
which she made him sign; and I, also, as a witness, 
was desired by her to annex my signature. She then 
sat down, and wrote a solemn pledge for her own ser- 
vices, which was executed in the same manner. The 
moment this was completed, Gabrielli rushed from the 
room, with ferocious looks and muttered impreca- 
tions; and relieved did I feel, when the slammed door 
shut him out from our presence, and then this fearful 
scene closed. 

Rosalie sank exhausted and almost' fainting upon 
the sofa, and anxious as I was to unborden my mind 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


193 


of the subject which brought me thither, and which 
Arturo’s fears, as well as my own had magnified into 
one of deep and vital importance, I was obliged to de- 
fer saying any thing which might excite her already 
overwrought feelings. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

The dreaded day of Rosalie’s debut had now ar- 
rived; and it was with much nervousness that I looked 
forward to its close. As I sat over my solitary meal, 
my thoughts were entirely engrossed by this one most 
interesting subject. Poor girl! hers was a really me- 
lancholy fate. 

To another, the brilliant career that presented itself, 
might have been viewed under a very different aspect; 
but she was born with a temperament so totally un- 
fitted to meet the circumstances she was destined to 
encounter. Her feelings were all so, unfortunately, 
high-wrought. 

But why did I give way to sorrowful murmurs? It 
would have been better had I endeavoured to calm 
my apprehensions for her, not by impotent regrets, 
but by remembering that human affairs are not left to 
roll on according to mere chance, but, even the hum- 
blest, the hand of Providence directs; however, it is 
but too often that an unaccountable mixture of light 
and darkness presents itself to us, when we attempt 
to trace the course of events. The ray of illumina- 
tion that we had followed for awhile, suddenly for- 
sakes usv and our senses are filled with confusion and 
disorder. 

Perhaps, at this moment, I was thinking, with a de- 
gree of dissatisfaction, which I ought not to have en- 
couraged, upon her untoward fate. My human un- 
derstanding could only discern some broken parts of 

vol. i. — 17 


194 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


the divine plan — some few links of that chain, which, 
by secret connexions binds together the destinies of 
man. All had been arranged by the just and tender 
hand of her Heavenly Father. 

If the secrets of Providence were laid open to us 
short-sighted mortals — if the justice of heaven was, in 
its every step, made manifest to our view — this pre- 
sent state would no longer answer the purpose of dis- 
cipline and trial; so we must learn to bear, with pa- 
tience, whatever is imposed upon us, though, indeed, 
the reward of our constancy may be far distant. Re- 
signation must seal up our lips; in silence, must we 
drop our tears, and adore, even while we mourn. 

It was a bright sunny morning, and its influence, 
as I walked towards Rosalie’s abode, improved my 
spirits. But I felt very anxious when I knocked at 
the door. I found her in the sitting-room, and Myr- 
tilla was in the act of trying on the dress that she was 
to wear that evening. I glanced at her countenance, 
and, at first, was reassured, for it did not appear sad; 
on the contrary, her eyes were bright; but, when I 
looked again, there was a deep red spot on either 
cheek, which proved to me, too truly, that her present 
state was one of excitement. 

She looked very lovely in the flowing robes of white 
muslin, which accorded so well with her own youth 
and simplicity. The part she was that night to per- 
form, was the short, but affecting, one of “Nina.” 
She had chosen this character herself; and, with that 
degree of pertinacity which accompanied some of her 
actions, and to which, even Gabrieli i was obliged, at 
times, to submit, she had determined to make her de- 
but in no other opera. The fact is, she had seen it 
acted in Italy, and it had made a deep impression on 
her fancy. Gabrieli i would have preferred her coming 
forth in some more elaborate part, in which her splen- 
did voice and extraordinary talent might have had 
greater scope; but Rosalie was obstinate, and- 
he was forced, in this instance, to give way. And, 
indeed, how could she have chosen better? Most 


the young prima donna. 


195 


truly did she identify the affecting character she 
had to portray ! and those who saw her, can never 
iorget the impression which she made upon their feel- 
ings. 

As for me, even now in the darkness of the night, 
the vision of the beautiful maniac appears before my 
imagination. I see the white garments of the dis- 
tracted Nina, hanging in classic folds of drapery 
around the graceful form ; the long dark hair flow- 
ing in loose tresses over her fair bosom. Even the 
flowers she held in her hand appear fresh and bright. 

My readers must make allowances for me; there 
are periods when these recollections return strongly 
to my mind, when I feel for a while overwhelmed — 
unmanned ; when human feelings throw their dark- 
ened veil over my purer and better thoughts, and for 
a moment, only a brief, an agonizing moment, 1 sin- 
fully forget her far more glorious, transcendant hap- 
piness, and remember alone that sweet young girl, 
who was so good, so beautiful, in all her beauty, her 
gentle attractions’mouldering in the dark cold grave, 
and I, a useless, miserable old man, left to till a place 
on earth, which would so much more delightfully have 
been occupied by one so young, so talented and ex- 
cellent ! But cease, vain heart, to murmur; how is 
it that 1, who have since endured so much, the rack- 
ing pains of a torturing disease, increased by the 
feebleness of declining years; I who have had also 
to bow beneath many a stroke of wayward fortune, 
I trust with pious resignation, how is it that still the 
pang of memory is ever equally keen upon this one 
subject ; the wound always fresh and bleeding. 

“ I cannot but remember such things were. 

And were most dear to me,” 

and w'ith the remembrance, my tears gush forth, and 
I weep as if the grief was but of yesterday. But 
again I will crave the pardon of my gentle reader, 
and with an effort to control my painful emotions, 
proceed with my sorrowful tale. 


196 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


A short time after my entrance, Rosalie retired 
•with Myrtilla to resume her dress. In a few minutes 
she returned. She did not make any allusion to the 
evening, but began at once to show me some books 
she had received from Sir Francis, asking me to look 
at them, and to tell her whether I approved of them 
before she commenced their perusal. She also men- 
tioned that he had called the day before, whilst she 
was at the theatre, which she said, she regretted. 

“ Rosalie,” I exclaimed, and there was a degree of 
sternness in my tone, for she started and coloured, 
“you must never admit Sir Francis, or any other 
such recent acquaintance; my dear child,” I con- 
tinued, “ in your profession, you cannot be too care- 
ful, too circumspect.” 

“ Of that I am fully aware, dear Mr. Leslie,” she 
answered, “and I had only one reason for making 
this exception in favour of Sir Francis, — his near re- 
lationship to Lord Belmont’s family.” 

“ But Rosalie,” I answered, “ I grieve to be obliged 
to say, that the ties of blood, in this instance, create 
but little similarity between the cousins. Sir Fran- 
cis is a young man of notoriously libertine charac- 
ter.” 

Rosalie looked shocked and amazed ; but I thought 
it my duty to proceed, at once, as I had begun. 

“ You must not. receive any favour from his hands 
— return his books — his presents, if he presumes to 
make you any; treat his advances with the most 
frigid coldness, and as you value your fair fame, 
be firm in refusing to go again to his house; however 
difficult may be the task for you to achieve, still I 
think, by your noble determination, you have con- 
vinced Gabrielli that you can be resolute upon those 
points which you consider of vital importance. You 
will, my poor child, be exposed to a fiery ordeal, your 
pure mind cannot comprehend the nature of the 
snares that will, in every direction, encompass you ; 
it would be folly in me not to be explicit, therefore, 
Rosalie, you must remember that you have great ta- 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


197 


j’ents, and much personal beauty ; your public posi^ 
tion will throw you at once into the midst of tempta- 
tions of every kind; adulation will be poured into 
your ear; every eye will be upon you, but ever keep 
in mind that vice, under the most insinuating aspect, 
walks abroad in this wicked’ world. ’Tis your des- 
tiny to be an actress ; on the stage you must act the 
part given to you ; there you may be the impassioned 
heroine, whether it be love, revenge or hate, you 
wish to portray; but when the scene is over, you must 
return to what you have hitherto been in such society, 
which believe me, I have witnessed with admiration 
and respect — the cold — even the forbidding woman; 
for virtue has often to borrow some of the sterner at- 
tributes, to maintain its dignity.” 

Rosalie sighed very deeply, and I, fearful of agi- 
tating her farther, at such a moment, changed the 
subject to one which I thought would cheer her. 

“To-morrow, Rosalie, there will, indeed, be joy 
for you, I shall take you to Belmont House.” 

These words, however, did not appear to produce 
the enlivening effect, I hoped they would have done.. 
Her countenance was very dejected, and large tears 
fell slowly from her eyes. 

“ Mr. Leslie,” she said, “ after this night’s exhibi- 
tion — after having seen me once publicly assume the 
character of an actress, will they welcome me as 
their former Rosalie? No, it is quite impossible. I 
can define more clearly the feelings of others than 
you may imagine; but 1 will go with you to-morrow; 
once more will I behold all their loved countenances — 
feast my weary, longing eyes again upon those I so re- 
vere — so love. Perhaps, indeed, it may be for the last 
time, for God is my judge, that I am not one who 
would wish to intrude. 1 shall be explicit with Lady 
Belmont, she who is truth and kindness itself, will 
be equally candid with me. She shall set the limits 
to my future intercourse with the family ; and with 
all her benevolence and equity, I know she has strict 
notions, with regard to the claims of rank and sta?- 
1 . 7 * 


198 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


tion. She shall seal my fate, and to her determina- 
tion I will bow without repining. If she says, ‘ Ro- 
salie, we shall never cease to love you and watch 
over you, but it is not consistent with, the dignity of 
your former companions, to associate with an actress, 
situated as you unfortunately are* living with those 
whose characters I cannot but condemn;’ then will I 
meekly submit. It will only hasten the breaking of 
this heart, which already is well nigh broken ; and I 
will take a last farewell of those, who, as long as I 
exist, I must always love, but never — never, will 1 
force myself upon them again.” 

In vain did I assure her that I had Lady Bel- 
mont’s sanction for presenting her again to her young 
friends ; she continued to shake her head, and look 
incredulous. 

“ Well, I shall go and judge for myself,” she per- 
sisted in saying, and the conversation was here in- 
terrupted, by the entrance of others^ 


THE YOUNG PRIM A DONNA. 


199 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

Many hearts beat high with expectation, in regard 
to the events of the evening. In Belmont House 
there was but one feeling, and that was most intense 
interest and nervous anxiety. As for Lady Gertrude, 
she made herself almost ill, so much had she thought 
and felt upon the subject. 

“ Alandale,” she said to her affianced Lord, as he 
sat by her side, his eyes fixed admiringly on the fine 
play of her animated countenance, “ you will at last 
see our poor Rosalie, of whom you have heard so 
much. Now you must promise me, that you will en- 
list yourself in her cause, and be as warm a friend — 
an advocate — to her as I am. I have my views with 
regard to this poor girl, and you must faithfully de- 
clare your readiness to assist me, in every proposition 
that I may make.” 

Lord Alandale was not tardy in satisfying his lovely 
betrothed. Any thing — every thing in his power; she 
had only to command. 

“ I shall go to the Opera to-night ; but I must not 
be seen,” she continued : “ it would quite unnerve 
Rosalie, were she to see us. Are you to be there, 
Henry?” she said to her brother, who had just entered 
the room. 

“ What can possess you to ask me such a ques- 
tion?” the young man replied. “ Do you think any 
power on earth would keep me away?” 

“ Then recollect, Henry, you must hide yourself ^ 


200 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


for Heaven’s sake, do nothing to add to the agitation-, 
the poor girl must feel on such an occasion. How 
she will be able to get through it at all, I can hardly 
imagine; and Fitz-Ernest, he will be there ; I sup- 
pose he will accompany Constance?” 

“ No, he has a box of his own, and I am to go with 
him.” 

“ But of course, he will join Constance during the 
evening, and you will come to us.” 

“ I don’t know,” returned Lord Henry; “ but real- 
ly, just now, I cannot think of sisters or any body 
else; so, my dear Gertrude, you must be content with 
your own property, Alandale ; Geraldine, will, no 
doubt, pick up some cavalier, and as for my mother, 
of course the Marquis will be there, to hear the little 
siren who used formerly to enchant him, though then 
her talents and perfections were only in embryo. 
But, good by, I really cannot stay. I feel that I am 
not able, for a moment, to be quiet this morning. I 
am all restlessness and impatience. I must endeavour 
to get rid of the day as well as I can ; so adieu,” and 
with these words, he ran off. 

****** 

It was not only in Belmont House, that curiosity 
and impatience were running high with regard to Ro- 
salie’s appearance; great expectations had been raised 
in the minds of the public. GabrielK was a deserved 
favourite in the musical world, as his base voice was 
certainly superb; therefore, from his pupil and daugh- 
ter, as such she was supposed by all to be, much was 
expected. From every lip you heard the same words, 
“Shall you be at the Opera to-night?” and it -was 
curious to listen to the only name passing from every 
individual, whether it were young or old, that of the 
lord or the commoner. 

Not a box was to be had, not a stall disengaged. 
So much anxiety had not been excited for years, for 
every one seemed to have heard vivid descriptions of 
the beauty, as well as of the talent of the new debut ; 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


201 


ante , and her extreme youth, rendered the interest still 
more intense. La Rosalia appeared destined to be the 
goddess of the season, even before her perfections had 
been seen. 

And Sir Francis Somerville — did he calmly await 
the termination of this day ? 

Vainly had he endeavoured again to catch even a 
passing glance of Rosalie’s countenance. The day 
after she had been to his house, he rose from his 
almost sleepless pillow, more than ever enamoured 
of her beauty, and there was something even beyond 
her loveliness, that had so completely enthralled his 
senses. 

He saw at once that she was no common character 
— not merely the beautiful image, to be adored solely 
for its outward charms — that she had mind to 
enhance them, and not only one that was cultivated, 
but of a most peculiar character: and Sir Francis 
experienced so many mingled feelings when he thought 
upon her, that he scarcely could define whether dis- 
appointment or pleasure pervaded his ideas, in having 
discovered that she was so superior; that his first 
views with regard to her appeared completely foiled. 

She was, indeed, no easy conquest. Besides, it was 
but too evident, that notwithstanding her extraordi- 
nary position, she was guarded with the watchfulness 
of Cerberus. The Belmonts, whom he always feared 
and disliked, were hor staunch and watchful friends, 
and then I — what anathemas did he not shower upon 
me ? for I, with my shovel hat, gray locks, and cleri- 
cal appearance, threw a degree of respectability over 
the whole affair, that was indeed a stumbling-block to 
all his plans and wishes. 

Templeton this morning found his friend in a very 
bad humour, and on accosting him in his usual strain, 
was thrown back considerably by the petulant replies 
of his friend and patron. 

“ However, after having recruited his strength and 
spirits by a copious meal, he ventured to say: “ Really, 
Somerville, I’ve been thinking that after all, that Sig- 


202 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


nora Rosalie Is nothing so wonderful. She is cer- 
tainly the most extraordinary young woman I ever 
saw, and, upon mv honour, she gives herself most 
cursed airs. I shall never forget the look of horror 
she cast on all your company last night; and really 
when poor Fanny approached her, if she had been a 
wild beast, instead of one of the sweetest girls in 
London, she could not have looked more terrified. 
For my part, I cannot understand these airs and 
graces, and I can tell you, she is no great favourite 
with the Opera people. Bless me ! in my opinion, 
there is no comparison between her and Fanny ; and 
upon my word I cannot help thinking that you are 
disappointed, for you look so deuced grave this morn- 
ing, my dear fellow.” 

Sir Francis did not vouchsafe to interrupt this long 
speech^; but if Templeton had looked at his counte- 
nance, he would have made his harangue much 
shorter, for a dark storm was gathering upon the brow 
of the Baronet, and at length he spoke in a tone and 
manner so sternly severe that Templeton trembled to 
his very heart’s core. 

“ Templeton,” he said, “ I shall never forgive my- 
self, for allowing you to take any part in the events of 
last night; however, I shall derive one advantage 
from it; it will teach me a useful lesson, that is, to 
avoid in future having any thing to do with such a 
blundering idiot as yourself. You need not think that 
I shall ever henceforward request your services. To 
think — and the very idea almost maddens me — that I 
should, with my eyes wide open, have committed such 
a deed of folly. To have brought her into the pre- 
sence of such a herd! Fanny indeed! no wonder that 
she should shrink from her, with shivering disgust. I 
have marred my own views, by having any thing to 
do with such a fool as yourself. So, in future, Tem- 
pleton, remember, you may continue to eat my din- 
ners, and for the sake of old companionship, J will 
remain your friend ; but at your peril — presume not 
to mention the name of that young lady, except with 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


203 


the most profound respect; as for pronouncing it 
coupled with that of Fanny, if you wish to preserve 
any terms with me, you must avoid henceforth taking 
so great a liberty.” 

Templeton looked very red, frightened and angry, 
and endeavoured to bluster out a few deprecatory 
sentences; but Sir Francis interrupted him, and in a 
cold, calm manner, began to speak upon some trivial 
subject. 

Templeton did not linger in Hill Street as he was 
wont to do. He was too glad to take his departure; 
and as he slowly, and with a very crest-fallen ap- 
pearance, paced his steps towards Iris club, he was 
musing deeply and with mortified feelings on the ex- 
traordinary mood of his patron. He had long been his 
companion — his catspaw — his butt — but never had he 
seen him thus; and the discomfited dandy began to 
think, that Sir Francis was either a little wrong in 
his head, or that, by some means or another, the reign 
of his favour with the rich and ever-generous Baronet 
was nearly over. 

Sir Francis, after the disappearance of Templeton, 
remained for some time in deep meditation. The* 
longer he pondered on the effect that Rosalie had 
produced upon him, the more he became bewildered 
by the crowd of new ideas and schemes, which rose 
in quick succession. With all his vices, taste and re- 
finement were much blended in his associations; and 
the classic beauty' of Rosalie, the freshness of her cul- 
tivated mind, and great talents, had raised her very' 
far above the level a£ which he had expected to find 
her. His views were all hasty' and impetuous. “ She 
was not, indeed, born for her present station,” he 
mentally' ejaculated. “ Superior she is to any woman 
I have ever before beheld — even to those I meet 
with in the highest grade. She would adorn any sta- 
tion !” 

And then he again mused for some short space. 
.After a time, he got up, and was for some moments 


204 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


busied in looking over his collection of books ; and se- 
lecting some, he rang the bell. 

“ Order my cab in an hour,” he said to the servant 
who attended. He had determined to call upon Ro- 
salie, and be himself the bearer of the books, which 
he intended to lend her. But this wish, my readers 
ha v ve before heard was frustrated. Rosalie was real- 
ly not at home when he first attempted to visit her. 
He next endeavoured to find Gabrielli, whose good 
wishes he was most anxious to conciliate, but he was 
too much engaged with the various arrangements of 
his vocation, to be accessible. 

Sir Francis was in a most unenviable state of mind, 
and how truly does this illustrate the fact that the in- 
dulged passions of a man having once obtained an un- 
limited sway, trample him under their very feet. And 
who can be happy, let their outward condition be ever 
so splendid, whose imperious wishes detain them at 
their call, and whose only enjoyments spring from the 
consolations of those of the world ? No, believe it, 
no chains bind so hard, no fetters hang so heavy, 
as those which fasten the corrupted heart to the hopes 
of this deceitful world. 


END OF VOL. T. 









YOUNG PRIM A DONNA. 


CHAPTER 1. 

The hour to me, so fraught with interest, had near- 
ly arrived. It was with a universal tremor pervading 
my evey feeling, that I bent my steps towards the Opera- 
house, where I was to meet Rosalie. 

It was a beautiful calm evening, and as I passed 
some mansions, the balconies of which were filled 
with flowers, and a soft wind wafted their perfume, 
my thoughts reverted to past days. 


Slight withal may be the things which bring 
Back on the heart the weight which it would fling 
Aside for ever. It may be a sound, 

A tone of music — summer’s eve or spring — 

A flower — the wind — the ocean which shall wound, 

Striking the electric chain by which we’re darkly bound. 

The odour of these flowers brought back to my 
mind, Fairbourne, that abode of peace, and all its 
sweet associations; Rosalie in her happy favoured 
childhood, and now whatw’as she? the immolated slave 
— the tool of a sordid ruffian. 


4 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


The crowd of carriages, which extended along the 
whole street, through which I passed, before I reach- 
ed the Opera-house, was unusually great — the multi- 
tude before the doors was dense, and I foresaw that 
the theatre would be filled to overflowing ; how would 
Rosalie ever be able to undergo this gaze of thou- 
sands 1 

I went, at once, to her dressing-room, but found 
that she had not arrived. Then, for the first time, I 
discovered that it had been arranged, that one act of 
another opera was to be performed, before the piece 
commenced, in which she was to appear. 

This was almost a relief to me, for I felt that I 
should have time to recover from the nervous trepi- 
dation, which had seized me. Although it was still 
early, not a blank space was to be seen, within the 
walls of the theatre. 

The overture was, at length, concluded, and the 
first performance commenced. I now began to be 
very anxious for Rosalie’s arrival, and wondered that 
I did not see Arturo, who was to perform the part of 
Lindor in “JVina,” and also make his first appear- 
ance on an English stage. 

On inquiring, I found that he was in the theatre, and 
at last was ushered into his presence. He was 
standing close to a table, which was covered with 
flowers, and he appeared to be arranging them in a 
small basket. He was dressed for his part, and look- 
ed indeed, well calculated to be the lover of “ Nina.” 

As I entered, he lifted up his eyes from his occupa- 
tion, and there was something in his countenance that 
was cheering. He looked happier than I had seen 
him for a long time. This I soon found, arose from 
the circumstance of his anticipating, with vivid de- 
light, acting with her that night — being able to. pour 
forth unrestrained, the impassioned feelings of his 
heart. 

On expressing my anxiety on her account, he an- 
swered in a voice of exultation. “ But oh ! Signor, 
consider what must be her success — how she will 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


5 


astonish and electrify all who hear her. Che Iri- 
onfo!”* 

This wa§ very little consolation to me. How 
slightly did such triumph avail in the balance of her 
happiness ! To me it seemed that it would be a mo- 
ment of humiliation, rather than of pride. Her doom 
would then be sealed, she would be bona fide an ac- 
tress, and my very soul shrunk from the idea, as if 
it had been but the first time that I had contem- 
plated it. 

At this moment Gabrielli entered. He was per- 
forming in the first piece, but had just stepped in, to 
tell me that Rosalie had arrived; and with a degree 
of anxiety and nervousness, which I had never before 
witnessed in him, he implored me to go to her. 

“And as you value her success,” he said, “endea- 
vour to calm her spirits — a failure now,” he added, 
“ would be destruction, and with her extraordinary 
uncertain mood, I tremble for the result.” 

I went to her. To my surprise, she was perfectly 
composed, although certainly very pale. She was 
already attired in the dress, that she was to wear 
upon the occasion. Myrtilla was merely smoothing 
her lovely dark tresses, which were allowed to stray 
wildly about her face and bosom. 

I felt my eyes filling very full of tears, when I 
looked upon her, she reminded me so forcibly of a 
victim decked for sacrifice ; but I endeavoured to 
make a strong effort over my feelings, and tried to 
speak cheerfully ; however, I saw that she evidently 
divined, what was passing in my mind. She was si- 
lent, but took hold of my hand, and pressed it convul- 
sively to her lips; there was something in this action, 
which conveyed to me the impression — almost as 
forcibly as words could have done, the knowledge of 
all that was passing within her heart. 

I never admired her so much ; for the manner in 
which she commanded her feelings, was, indeed, in 

* What triumph ! 

I* 


6 


THfc VOUNO PRIMA DONNA; 


her, an act of real heroism. It was a very trying inr>- 
terval. To me it was really more painful, if possible* 
than to Rosalie. She seemed to have wound herself 
up to a pitch of sel ^possession, which I had not ac* 
quired. 

The moment was drawing very near. Gabrielli 
came in and out, as often as he possibly could, and 
had I not known the sordid selfishness of the man’s 
nature, I might have been inclined to pity the state of 
perturbation, under which he was now suffering. Oh ! 
what a change from his usual domineering — almost 
brutal manner ! His demeanour now was quite Grouch- 
ing and fawning to Rosalie, with the view of coaxing 
her into confidence, and to produce the mood, which 
was most advantageous to his purpose. For my part* 

I felt every moment that passed, rendered me more 
useless, from the state of my own nerves ; and 1' 
scarcely knew what was going forward. 

I saw Gabrielli endeavour to persuade Rosalie to 
swallow a nervous draught he had brought with him, 
but she steadily declined it, saying “Fear not, 1 am 
equal to it all.” 

The overture to Nina now commenced, but I was 
told afterwards, that the feeling of anxiety, for the ap- 
pearance of the debutante was so strong, that even 
that strain of rich, and impassioned harmony, was 
thought tedious, so desirous were they to behold the 
new’ star, which was to eclipse every other in brib 
liancy. 

How shall 1 describe my feelings, when Gabrielli- 
appeared to tell Rosalie, that it was time to take her 
position on the stage? In the first two scenes, she 
was merely a passive performer. Nina is represented 
as sleeping, in a reclining posture on a bank, at the 
extremity of the stage; 

Without hesitation, she rose, and w'ith a firm step 
followed Gabrielli. He offered her his arm, but she 
motioned him to proceed, and immediately seized that 
of Arturo, who was standing gazing upon her, with 
eyes, in which the expression of anxiety, and. the. tear- 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


7 


derest love were mingled. Without any demur, she 
at once placed herself in an attitude so unexpressibly 
graceful, that it admitted of no improvement, and eli- 
cited the warmest praise from Gabrielli. I looked 
upon her as there she lay, so white — so motionless, 
and I thought, poor girl, that it would not have given 
me much more agony, to have known that she was 
calmly sleeping in her last repose ; for on her rising, 
how much had she to encounter! By her side, Ar- 
turo placed a basket of most beautiful flowers, and he 
likewise scattered many a fragrant blossom round 
her. 

As for me, I hardly knew what to do; whether to 
remain and watch her proceedings, or to rush into 
the dressing-room, and, by endeavouring, to shut out 
all sound and sight, remain therein darkness, until all 
was over. However — no — I could not fly. I was- 
spell-bound — fascinated to the spot. 




CHAPTER II. 

The piece proceeded. The first scene was over, 
and also the second. Gabrielli, who performed the 
part of the father, was singing the last aria, which 
was to precede the appearance of Nina. It was evi- 
dent, even to the audience, that it was difficult for him 
to get through the part, so painfully was he labouring- 
under anxiety. This was attributed to the most ami- 
able feeling,— that of paternal solicitude; and the spec- 
tators, who are always alive to good-natured sympa- 
thy, were loud in their plaudits, seeking to re-assure 
him, and to evince that they appreciated his senti- 
ments. 

The song, itself, was one of a very plaintive de- 
scription; the tremulous accents of his voice, and the per-- 


8 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


turbation, which was really not now feigned, rendered 
the scene already, quite affecting, and prepared the 
minds of the spectators for much tragic effect. The 
words ran thus : — 

“ No che padre io piii non sono 
Gemo in van, non ho piii figlia. 

Chi mi regge e mi consiglia ? 

Son dal cielo in abbandona, 

Sono io stesso in odio a me.” 

The moment became one of intense and painful in- 
terest. Nina was now looked for, and every instant 
seemed an age to the excited minds of the expecting 
audience. It was, I have since heard, an almost 
breathless interval of suspense. 

Gabrielli, had uttered his last sentence: — 


“ Adesso corro ad abbracciarla — Oh Dio !” 


but still Nina did not move. 

Arturo, who stood by my side, was in a stale of al- 
most frantic agitation. 

“Gracious powers!” he cried, “ what is to be done? 
She stirs not — perhaps she has fainted!” 

There was considerable commotion prevailing 
around. The prompter seemed confounded ; no one 
appeared to know what course to pursue — all was 
consternation. A pause ensued, which was most 
frightful to those who understood the extreme peril 
and uncertainty of the case. However, it was soon 
over; for, with a suddenness, which was like a stroke 
of electricity to every one, Nina started from her re- 
clining position, and, instead of walking forward with 
slow and languid steps, with a piercing shriek, she 
flew towards the centre of the stage, and there she 
stood transfixed; her hands clasped over her bosom, 
her eyes riveted with a sort of wild stare, upon the 
sea of faces which met her affrighted gaze. 

I believe nothing ever produced such a thrilling — 
such a startling effect, as this unexpected action. It 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


9 


was quite unpremeditated on her part, and not accor- 
ding to the manner in which she had practised to ap- 
pear; but, had she studied the effect for years, it would 
have been impossible to have proved more successful. 
At once, the feelings of the audience were attacked 
in their strong-hold. 

’Ihe beautiful, and really maniac appearance of the 
lovely girl, who, like a vision, so suddenly presented 
herself before them, instantaneously affected all be- 
holders. Even, before she opened her lips to pour 
forth her wild melodious strains, every heart was 
bleeding for the sorrows, which were expressed by 
lier speaking countenance. 

A burst of the most enthusiastic applause greeted 
her ; and it was fortunate that its duration gave her 
time to collect her scattered senses. She told me af- 
terwards, that as she lay on the bench, her self-pos- 
session appeared gradually to die away, and she be- 
gan to feel that it would be impossible for her to make 
the effort. 

“ But, at length,” she added, “ I suddenly heard 
the voice of Gabrielli pronounce my name. I believe 
it reached no other ears, but it always seems to pene- 
trate to mine; and that instinctive feeling of terror with 
which he inspires me, urged me forward ; it startled 
me from the state of immobility in which I was 
plunged, and, forgetting every thing else, with a fright- 
ened bound I rushed forward, and, scarcely knowing 
what I was about, I found myself face to face with 
the multitude.” 

The shouts of approbation which her appearance 
excited, seemed to effect her much less than I could 
have imagined. She told me it was astonishing how 
little she heeded, or even heard them. Her thoughts 
reverted, immediately, to her part, and to the positive 
necessity of exertion; and, as soon as silence was im- 
posed, she commenced her song, and, to my inex- 
pressible surprise and relief, her voice, although it 
trembled in the first few notes, became firm and melo- 
dious, and she executed that enchanting strain — "11 


10 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


mio ben quando verrh ,” ima manner which my poor 
description would but feebly pourtray. Those who 
were so fortunate as to hear it, must ever remember 
the impression it produced upon all. 

Such was the effect, that the tear of sympathy fell 
from almost every eye. 

Perhaps, there are few compositions more touch- 
ing. Every word speaks for itself, and now each 
note appeared to swell from a heart half- broken. A 
loud burst of enthusiastic applause ensued, and “ en- 
core, ” resounded from many quarters; but it was not 
persisted in, evidently, out of respect and considera- 
tion for the young debutante, whose fragile form little 
accorded with the extraordinary volume of voice 
which proceeded from her delicate frame. 

I have often heard, that there never was an audi- 
ence who appeared more' completely absorbed and 
attracted. A universal silence prevailed in every part 
of the theatre. It seemed that the usual business of 
amusement, which generally draws people to the 
Opera, was suspended. All were motionless, trans- 
fixed in mute attention. Rosalie appeared to possess 
at once a miraculous control over those who beheld 
her. Like a “ stream of rich distilled perfumes,” her 
voice seemed to shed a mournful, though sweet emo- 
tion, around their every feeling. 

As the Opera proceeded, she appeared to gain per- 
fect self-possession, and entered, most completely, into 
the spirit of the character she was personating. And, 
truly did she identify the poor distracted Nina ! It 
was almost too much— too affecting— to behold ; at 
the same time it was, certainly, sublime to contem- 
plate. There was a distension in the large pupil of 
her eye, which very much increased the appearance 
of their size. When she first commenced, she was 
very pale, although her colour had been assisted by 
art, to prevent the look of ghastliness which the stage 
lights always produce; however, her own excitement 
and exertion soon spread the brightest carnation over 
her fair skin, therefore, aided by the rouge, her com- 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


11 


plexion appeared most brilliant, and added so much 
to the sparkling lustre of her eyes, that their splen- 
dour was almost inconceivable. 

Her acting also was superbly natural, every eye 
was riveted upon the stage, and tears coursed each 
other down many a lovely countenance, for her pa- 
thetic accents seemed to tell a tale of wo, that par- 
took too truly of reality. So deeply were the public 
engrossed by the beautiful being before them, that 
they had almost forgotten there was another aspirant 
for fame to welcome that evening. 

Arturo had yet to appear, and although the cha- 
racter he was to personify did not afford great scope 
for a genius such as his, still I was certain, that with 
his feelings, acting as he would so completely con 
amove, ample justice would be done to the part of 
Nina’s passionate lover. 

Poor fellow ! vividly do I remember all he suf- 
fered whilst Rosalie proceeded ; his emotions partook 
of a mixture of agitation, admiration, and exulting 
triumph, which shook his frame most violently. At 
one moment he wept, and in another he was grasping 
my hand, trembling lest she should fail in any very 
difficult passage — and then his bursts of applause — the 
wild ecstatic manner in which he threw his arms 
around me hugging me for joy! 

Gabrielli was likewise in a state of nervous, happy 
exultation; but I could not participate in any thing he 
felt. I was angry that the wretch should be reaping 
such advantageous fruits, from his cruelty and cupi- 
dity. However, as Rosalie proceeded, she seemed 
even to surpass herself, and hysterical sobs were heard 
in many directions.. 

But what must have been the feelings of some of 
those who were present — the friends of her childhood, 
who now again beheld her for the first time, after a 
long and painful separation. The effect, was indeed, 
agonizing, and the gentle Gertrude was becoming 
-every moment more painfully agitated; it was evident 
to all around that it would be quite impossible for her 


12 


THE YOUNG FRIMA DONNA. 


to sit out the whole performance; but still no persua- 
sion could induce her to leave her post. 

And Lady Constance sat in her box, with the elderly, 
chaperone who always attended her; how did she feel 
whilst contemplating the beautiful, the talented being, 
whose charms she had so longed, yet dreaded to be- 
hold? Far more dangerous did she find her, than her 
anxious doubting heart had even anticipated. She 
wept, and I fear her tears flowed from more than one 
cause. “ No wonder,” she inwardly ejaculated, “ that 
such powerful interest has ever been excited. She 
is indeed fascinating, and there is something in her 
beauty so peculiar;” and bitterly did Constance sigh, 
as her thoughts reverted to Fitz-Ernest, who came 
not to her — who she knew was at that moment gazing 
with tender admiration upon the too lovely girl — the 
object of such universal homage. 

But now there was a reaction amongst the audience. 
Lindor appeared before them, and for a brief moment 
even Rosalie was less heeded, so much applause was. 
elicited by the aspect of the young Italian. 

He was truly the wretched Lindor, full of anxious 
love — of agonizing suspense, arriving after a long ab- 
sence, and finding nothing but wretchedness awaiting 
him. The duet which followed between GabrielLi 
and Arturo was splendid and effective. 

The spectators appeared to have a divided interest, 
for the young actor, was, in bis way, as great a prize 
as Rosalie. 1 have often expatiated on the manly beau- 
ty of his form, and now enhanced by the advantage 
of stage effect, he certainly was a most striking model 
of youthful grace. When the young debutants both 
appeared upon the boards, never did two beings seem 
so completely formed to act together. 

A feeling of gladness and confidence, beamed from 
Rosalie’s eyes whilst he was near her, and the real af- 
fection with which he inspired her, gave to every 
word she uttered, an air of truth which rendered her 
acting even more than ever perfect. It seemed but 
the unrestrained effusion of the heart; and at the mo 


the young prima donna. 


13 


mon of thrilling interest, when Nina recognises her 

a PP? ared to be a simultaneous feeling 
amongst all those who saw her; it seemed as if they 
scarcely knew how sufficiently to express their ex- 
cessive enthusiasm ; the piece concluded, the whole 
ouse rising, with shouts and plaudits giving vent to 
tne demonstration of their satisfaction, and the cur- 
tain dropped amidst thundering peals of applause. 




CHAPTER HI. 

The admiring multitude were not satisfied by these 
loud acclamations. They wished even more fully to 
attest their rapturous feelings. They must again feast 
their eyes upon the perfect being, who had thus en- 
tranced their senses, and pour forth the incense of 
their praise. There was a general call for her reap- 
pearance, which was becoming every moment more 
Importunate and peremptory. 

But Rosalie after having done wonders — crowned 
herself with brilliant success — surpassed the most 
sanguine expectations of the exigeant Gabrielli, who 
was now cringing, and almost worshipping at her feet 
— so much was he delighted — so more than satisfied; 
after having thus performed her part — thus exerted 
herself, the flame of excitement appeared burnt out, 
and exhausted — drooping, she had thrown herself into 
my arms, and leaning her head on my shoulder, tears 
fell silently from her eyes. 

We conveyed her to the dressing room, and I pre- 
vailed upon her to swallow a little wine; but poor 
child her trial was not over. 

The noise in the theatre was tremendous — un- 
ceasing. It seemed to grate upon the fatigued ear of 
Rosalie. 

VOL. II. — 2 


14 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


“ Will they never be silent!” she exclaimed in a 
voice of impatience. 

At this moment, Gabrielli entered looking per- 
plexed and anxious. 

« Mademoiselle,” he said, in a hesitating humble 
tone, “ I am sorry to annoy you farther to-night, but 
I find it impossible to do otherwise; I fear you must 
make your appearance before the audience, who are 
so delighted — so charmed with your acting.” 

The man was now all respect — all submission, but 
Rosalie, who had sunk upon a sofa with an air of pe- 
tulance, waved him off. 

« No,” she said, “ surely I have done enough, I will 
not — cannot.” 

Gabrielli looked at me beseechingly, and whispered, 
« Assist me, I implore you.” 

I saw that there was no possibility of escape for 
her, and, therefore, endeavoured to prevail upon her 
to submit. But for some moments I despaired of be- 
ing able to move her. 

This was a very painful interval. The clamours of 
the audience still continued with almost frightful ve- 
hemence. At length, she started with an air of despe- 
ration from the recumbent position she had taken on 
the couch, and all dishevelled and pale as she was, 
walked quickly forward, resolutely declining Mvrtil- 
la’s efforts to remedy in a degree, the disorder of her 
attire. Gabrielli was obliged to be satisfied, and Ro- 
salie was led forward by Arturo, whose name had 
also been loudly vociferated by the audience, and Ga- 
brielli was soon called upon to receive his meed of 
congratulation. 

Rosalie’s appearance had much changed, even in 
the short period which had intervened, since she had 
before stood in the presence of the admiring multitude. 
She had left them the animated — the restored heroine, 
breathing love and happiness. Now, with disordered 
tresses, and cheeks blanched by the tears which had 
bathed them, she was again the distracted — plaintive 
— moon-struck Nina. 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


15 


On turning my eyes with rapidity round the now 
animated walls of the crowded theatre, I could per- 
ceive every eye fixed upon her, all with deep intensity 
regarding her. And there poor Rosalie stood with her 
hand, pressed tightly upon her beating, aching heart. 
She courtesied profoundly, gratefully, but had not 
yet once raised her heavy swollen eyes. 

Little did she appreciate the tumultuous tribute of 
rapture with which she was again greeted; it sounded 
distractingly on her senses. The ordeal, however, 
was nearly at an end. The audience had satiated 
their longing gaze by another view of these two youth- 
ful and most interesting beings. Rosalie was making 
what she hoped to be her last obeisance, when she 
was startled by finding at her feet, a guirlande of 
flowers, which had been thrown from a box just above 
where she stood. 

This box had been closely curtained during the per- 
formance, and I had suspected whom it contained, but 
now all concealment was at an end. The curtains 
were undrawn, and Fitz-Ernest, with Lord Henry by 
his side, stood prominently forward; they were both 
gazing with the most intense anxiety upon Rosalie. 
Surprised by the unexpected sight of the flowers that 
were raised from the ground by Gabrielli, and pre- 
sented to her, she instinctively looked up in the direc- 
tion from whence they came, and she then caught the 
glance of Fitz-Ernest — beaming with an expression of 
the wannest admiration — of unexpired affection. It 
was too much for the already exhausted spirits of the 
poor girl. She wildly gazed for a moment upon a 
countenance whose image had never left her mind, 
and then nature, quite overpowered — overwrought, 
gave way, and she sunk into a fainting-fit, which 
was fearful from its duration, and total suspension of 
life. 

This finale was truly a coup de theatre, and Rosalie 
could little have imagined how completely it placed 
her at once at the very climax of celebrity; for an 
English audience is of all classes the most easily pre- 


16 


THE YOUNG PRIM A DONNA. 


disposed to sympathy, particularly when it is the young 
and beautiful who lay claim to it, therefore, it is not 
to be wondered at that with their feelings previously 
excited, and on the qui vive, universal interest was 
displayed at the sudden indisposition, and parting 
finale of the poor cantatrice. 

But if strangers were thus moved, how was it with 
those individuals, who felt they had a long established 
claim to suffer for her? 

In Lord Belmont’s box the scene was very distress- 
ing. Lady Gertrude, who insisted on remaining to 
see the last of her friend, was now in a state of ner- 
vousness which really alarmed those around her. She 
was for flying at once to seek her poor Rosalie — to 
administer to her restoration; and it was difficult to 
pacify her until her father promised to go himself to 
ascertain the state in which she now was. 

It was not without some exertion that his Lordship 
could gain admittance behind the scenes ; it being a 
first appearance, all access to that part of the thea- 
tre had been closed; however, by sending for Gabri- 
elli, he was enabled to enter these forbidden precincts, 
and soon found himself at the door of Rosalie’s dress- 
ing-room. 

The scene which there presented itself, was of a 
most striking and affecting nature. Rosalie was 
stretched upon a sofa ; the sombre covering of which 
contrasted forcibly with the fair lifeless-looking form 
extended upon it. There lay Rosalie, like a lily 
broken by the wind, prostrate on the dark cold earth. 
Her black hair was scattered over her white skin and 
dress, and partially concealed her face. One of her 
arms hung listlessly over the side of the sofa, and 
there was a still, exhausted appearance pervading 
the whole form, which looked, indeed, like death it- 
self. 

But Lord Belmont had been forestalled. There 
were others whose anxiety had even surpassed his 
own, and he was startled by perceiving his two eldesV 
sons. 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


17 


On one side of Rosalie’s couch knelt Fitz-Ernest r 
holding her cold hand within his own, which he 
seemed endeavouring to warm into life by the tender 
kisses he imprinted on it. At a short distance, stood 
Lord Henry, his head bent upon his hand ; he was 
striving to hide the tears, which this mournful specta- 
cle had drawn from his affectionate young heart. 

Lord Belmont, who was the kindest of human be- 
ings, fully and truly sympathized in the feeling so 
deeply evinced by his sons; and if anything could 
have increased the interest he had always entertained 
for the poor girl, it was redoubled tenfold by seeing 
her thus powerless — crushed — and still so lovely ! 

He inquired eagerly what could be done; and I, 
who was almost beside myself with terror and anx- 
iety, was just able to say that Gabrielli had gone for 
medical advice. 

The kind, good Lord ! the scene is now vividly be- 
fore my imagination. I can remember well the ex- 
pression of his benevolent countenance as he imme- 
diately tendered his assistance to aid the endeavours 
they were using to restore her. 

He raised her in his own arms, and parted the dark 
masses of hair from her marble forehead,, which he 
tenderly bathed with eau de Cologne , at the same 
time desiring Myrtilla to chafe her hands. 

But the one which Fitz-Ernest held was not re- 
linquished. He still knelt with it clasped in his own, 
looking almost as pale — as statue-like, as the fainting 
form beside him. 

Soon Gabrielli entered with ar surgeon, who pro- 
nounced her state to be that of syncope, produced 
by perfect prostration of power in the system, and he 
proceeded to force between her lips some stimulants. 

So agitated and alarmed were we, that we forgot 
all caution, and allowed her to revive without with- 
drawing from her view, those who surrounded her. 
After heaving a deep sigh, by slow degrees she unclosed 
her eyes ; what a spectacle met her bewildered 
gaze ! She was in the arms of her beloved — her re- 


18 


THE YOUNG FRIMA DONNA'. 


vered patron, Lord Belmont. Whose kind pressure 
warmed into life the hand still clasped in his! Fitz- 
Emest’s — the object which had stamped itself in the 
inmost, secret recesses of a devoted heart — whose 
idea had been dwelt upon until it had almost been 
deified. It was a secret which she would have ra- 
ther died than reveal; but if we could have pene- 
trated into the mysterious workings of her mind, we 
might have discovered that ardent enthusiastic love 
had burnt in her breast for years, with a flame, 
which though silent, was steady and consuming. 

“ She sought, like the strickened deer, to weep in si- 
lence and loneliness, and brood over the barbed ar- 
row that rankled in her soul.” 

Unfortunate Rosalie ! In referring to some of the 
pages of. her journal, I discovered that this moment 
of returning consciousness was ranked by her, as the 
very happiest of her whole existence. “ It was,” she 
expressed herself, “like waking in paradise,” so un- 
expected was the bliss that awaited her. And far 
from its doing her an injury, as we might have sus- 
pected, the soothing balm of exquisite delight, seemed 
to act as a composing elixir to her agitated spirits. 

She looked round, and met the kind expression of 
the excellent Marquis, who said affectionately, “ How 
delighted I am to see you. better,. my dear child ! But 
now you must allow me to place you gently on these 
cushions, for J must go to Gertrude — poor Gertrude, 
who is almost as ill as you have been, from anxiety 
on your account. I will return, my dear,” he con- 
tinued, “ after I have satisfied her mind, and placed 
her safely in the carriage; these good people must 
take care of you till I come back.” 

Then did Rosalie turn her blushing face towards 
Fitz-Ernest; but it was soon again averted, for even 
then her conscious heart w’hispered to her, that it 
must not, ought not to be. There were feelings lurk- 
ing there, which warned her that there was danger 
to her happiness, to her peace of mind, concealed in. 


THS YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


19 


every thought — every look which she bestowed on 
him. 

But how resist the fascination of this moment, 
whilst by her side, stood the noble manly youth, soft- 
ened almost to the feelings of a woman, as he lingered 
near her? He could scarcely command his voice to 
speak, but by his affectionate actions ; his looks of 
tender solicitude ; she was not slow to discover the 
benignant nature of his sentiments towards her. And 
the warm-hearted young Henry ! He was much 
more demonstrative than his brother, and by turns 
was exhibiting the expression of joy, admiration and 
affection. But whilst this scene was passing, where 
was Arturo? 

He was pacing, with agitated steps, to and fro, not 
daring to enter the room, for at that moment, he had 
sufficient command over his feelings, to abstain from 
placing himself in a situation that would have excited 
passions, which unfortunately were too dangerously 
afloat in his nature. He did not dare to intrude where 
he felt his presence was not required; but still he could 
not resolve to leave the vicinity of the spot, which con- 
tained her he so worshipped — so loved. 

Whilst he was standing for a moment, anxiously 
interrogating some one, who had just quitted the 
chamber, he was accosted by Sir Francis Somerville, 
who in a hurried, eager manner, asked if he could give 
him any intelligence concerning the Signora Rosalia. 
Arturo’s feelings towards this young man had always 
partaken of much bitterness; the very mention of his 
name, appeared to shake his whole frame with shud- 
dering dislike, and I had witnessed, with uneasiness, 
the looks of rage and jealous anger which he cast to- 
wards him, during the time the Opera proceeded. He 
had pointed out the Baronet to me with menacing ex- 
pressions, as he sat alone in a stage box, with anopera 
glass fixed almost immoveably upon Rosalie. I saw 
that, as the impetuous Italian glanced fiercely at him, 
he gnashed his teeth with impotent fury. 

The temperament of this youth was fearfully hot* 


20 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA.. 


and all my admonitions had, I regret to say, failed in 
subduing his impetuous nature. I always trembled 
with direful forebodings when I contemplated what 
might be his fate. He could, in some degree, tolerate 
Rosalie’s feelings towards the young Belmont’s grati- 
tude — early associations might be ascribed to them ; 
but Sir Francis — what right had he, he thought, to 
presume to look at her, to think of her; and now, 
at this time, when he was more than usually excited, 
what a moment to be confronted face to face, and to 
be accosted by the man he so mortally hated! 

As Somerville spoke, Arturo turned his dark fierce 
eyes upon him, with an expression of disdainful 
anger. 

“ By what right;” he answered, in Italian, for in 
that language he had been addressed by Sir Francis,. 
“ do you claim the privilege of asking the question.” 

The baronet at first looked surprised at this uncalled 
for reply, but soon perceiving the enraged glances of 
the Italian, he felt his own hot blood begin to rise,, 
at what he considered the extreme impertinence of the 
youth. 

“And by what right have you,” he exclaimed, “to 
waive the claims of courtesy and speak to me thus?” 
and he looked the very personification of pride and 
disdain. 

At this moment, I fortunately chanced to pass. I 
instantly detected the irritating bearing of the two 
young men; the sinister expression which I so well 
understood in the Italian, and the haughty offended 
mien of the Baronet. 

“ Arturo,” I whispered, “go and see if Signor Ga- 
brielli’s carriage is ready. Rosalie is about to de- 
part.” 

This speeeh changed the current of his ideas in a 
moment; he exclaimed,. 

“ Grazie al Cielo! e dunque tornata in vita!”* 

And without even waiting to cast another furious 


* God be praised, .then she has revived.. 


TIIE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


21 


glance at Sir Francis, he flew to obey my commands; 
and I then, politely addressing myself to Somerville, 
who still lingered, requested he would kindly withdraw. 
I told him that*Rosalie was soon to pass that way, and 
that as she was still in a very exhausted nervous state, 
it would be more agreeable to her feelings that her 
exit should be as private as possible. He signified his 
immediate willingness to comply with my wishes, 
merely remaining to pour upon me many anxious in- 
quiries concerning her, all of which I answered coldly, 
but in civility. 

It was no small relief to me when I at length bowed 
him off, and saw him depart to his box. 

Soon after, Rosalie was sufficiently restored to be 
able to return home; but she did not leave her young 
friends till they had made her promise to visit them 
at Belmont House, the following day. 




CHAPTER IV. 


From the period I have just recorded, a bright 
gleam of sunshine seemed, for a passing moment, to 
radiate the darkened horizon of my heroine’s exis- 
tence. She was human, therefore it would be unna- 
tural to suppose that she was not gratified, and in a 
degree elated, by the rich incense of praise and adu- 
lation, which poured upon her from every quarter. 
In fact, she had become the reigning star of the Lon- 
dpn season. There was so much of romance, which 
is always attractive to the generality of mankind per- 
vading her history, and so impenetrable a mantle of 
respectability, cast over her from the marked and 
public countenance of a family, who stood so high in 


22 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


the estimation of every one — so strict in virtue and in 
principle as the Belmonts, that she was looked upon, 
by the admiring multitudes, as a species of rara avis. 
There was a degree of simplicity, of innate innocence 
in the character of Rosalie, which at this time struck 
me peculiarly, as being as extraordinary as it was 
beautiful. 

I almost thought it out of nature ; for although at 
times I could detect something like gratified pride, 
still it was not as it would have been with others. It 
was with humility, and certainly with somewhat of 
indifference, that she received the universal homage, 
which was laid at her feet. But I was hardly then 
aware of the peculiar bias of her mind. It was not 
formed for the matter-of-fact business of this world ; 
it was of a quality too susceptible of the finer feel- 
ings, too exalted, to be much influenced by worldly 
vanity. 

From the circumstances of her indisposition on the 
the night of her first performance, the utmost solici- 
tude had been excited; and the out of the way dismaL 
street, in which Gabrieli! had taken up his abode, was 
literally thronged with carriages, all drawn there 
with the same intention — that of making anxious in- 
quiries after the health of the interesting debutante. 
Had Rosalie prized such considerations, proud might 
she have been, for not only were many of those, who 
thus honoured her, amongst the first nobility of the 
land, but even royalty itself, deigned to be interested 
in her behalf. The day after her appearance, she 
was too ill to be able to leave her bed, and her anxi- 
ous friends at Belmont House were again disappoint- 
ed in their hope of seeing her; for although, free per- 
mission had been given for Rosalie’s visit to them, 
their parents would not hear of any of the Ladies de 
Vere going to the house of the Italian. There was 
nothing left, therefore, for Lady Gertrude, but to send 
Mademoiselle Kramer, in order that she might gain 
from her, every particular concerning the state of her 
friend. 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


23 


However, poor actresses have not much time al- 
lowed them for the indulgence of indisposition; many 
an aching head and heart are obiiged to yield to the 
imperative call of a rehearsal; and little do we think, 
when we witness performances, in which so much 
talent and grace are displayed, and which appear to 
flow with such apparent ease, what fatigue and labour 
brought about this perfection ! 

On the following Saturday, Rosalie was again to 
appear in the character of Nina, and, on the Tues- 
day afterwards, another, and more arduous task was 
assigned to her; and Gabrielli, elated by her success 
on the previous evening, was more than ever ardent 
in the cause. His avarice seemed to become sharp- 
er, the more he was secure of gain ; and I saw, with 
disgust, that his impatience could scarcely brook the 
delay of even a few hours, which his victim was 
obliged to devote to rest and quiet, in order to recruit 
her exhausted frame. 

At length, however, her reward was at hand ; and 
who can describe her feelings, when she found her- 
self, once more, pressed in the arms of kind and con- 
stant friends ! 

I accompanied her to Belmont House, and it was 
a joyful, though very nervous moment, for I hardly 
knew how her shattered nerves would stand such ex- 
cessive happiness. It was, indeed, a pleasing sight; 
and, truly, there are scenes in real life, as replete with 
dramatic effect, as any of those we see represented 
on the stage; a striking picture might have been ima- 
gined in the reunion of two young girls, both so 
lovely and yet so 'different, as Lady Gertrude and 
Rosalie. 

But, I think I was most affected, by being the spec- 
tator of her first introduction to Lady Belmont. Af- 
ter Rosalie had been some time with the young ladies 
she turned to me, and requested I would go with hei 
to the Marchioness. 

Lady Gertrude immediately started up, offering to 
be her conductress. 


24 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


“Let me take you to her, dear Rosalie,” she said; 
“I do not like to lose sight of you for a moment.” 

“No, dearest Lady Gertrude!” she exclaimed, anx- 
iously; “ let me have a short interview with your mo- 
ther;! have something to say which is for her private 
ear.” 

“What! have you secrets from me, Rosalie?” ex- 
claimed Lady Gertrude, reproachfully. 

“No,” she answered, “ not one; but my mind will 
be easier, when I have conversed with that excellent 
lady a short time alone — so grant me this indulgence, 
for upon it hangs all my future happiness.” 

“ Then, you must not be long,” Gertrude replied, as 
she allowed her, reluctantly, to depart. 

Lady Belmont was in her boudoir. She was alone, 
with the exception of a beautiful little boy, who was 
seated on a footstool by her side. She was writing, 
but, as we approached, she raised her eyes and be- 
held Rosalie, whom I was leading by the hand. She 
really, almost started, so much was she stcuck by 
the loveliness that appeared before her. 

And never did Rosalie look to more advantage. 
Her colour partook of that carnation tint, which ex- 
citement always lent to her complexion. 

“ Rosalie, my love,” Lady Belmont exclaimed, 
“ how delighted I am to see you 1” and she held out 
her arms, and pressed the happy grateful girl, in a 
most affectionate, cordial embrace. 

My heart swelled with pleasure in witnessing this 
interview ; and oh ! it was beautiful to behold that 
graceful, dignified-looking woman, upon whose stately 
aspect nobility was so strongly stamped, yet, from 
whose benign countenance beamed every kindly, every 
tender feeling, as she bent, caressingly, over the hum- 
ble, lowly girl, who knelt at her feet. She clasped 
the Marchioness’s hand in hers, which she covered 
with fervent kisses. 

I soon withdrew, as Rosalie had begged, before we 
entered, that I would do so, but the Marchioness af- 
terwards favoured me with an account of what had 
passed between them. 


THIS YOUNG PRIM A DONNA. 


25 


ow can I sufficiently express to your Ladyship 
gratitude,” she said, “ for all your unvaried kind- 
-ss towards me, especially for this last indulgence — 
permission to be where I now an.” 

“ My dear girl,” replied Lady T Belmont, affection- 
ately raising her, and making her sit on the couch by 
her side, “ it has ever been a pleasure to remember 
you, and I rejoice to see you here once more.” 

“ And it is upon this subject,” replied Rosalie, firm- 
ly, though mournfully, “ that I now wish to speak to 
your Ladyship. Once more, indeed, I am in your 
presence — within the walls of your honoured home, 
but, may I ask the question? is it with your free-will, 
dear madam, or only kindly to sa-tisfy others, that you 
again admit me into the bosom of your family — I, 
who am a public actress — the reputed daughter of a 
man from whose character, I am too well aware, 
your pure mind must shrink? It is not repugnant to 
your ideas, that I should be even the occasional com- 
panion of your high-born, innocent daughters? I am 
come here, alone to beseech you to satisfy my anxiety 
on this point. I have lived with people whose con- 
duct has harassed my every feeling; I have seen the 
degradation of vice ; I am exposed to its view even 
daily; but,” she added, meekly folding her hands upon 
her bosom, “ thanks be to God ! — to what I owe to you 
dear lady — to Mr. Leslie, and, 1 may also say, thanks 
to the virtue which nature has implanted in my heart, 
— I am still unchanged. All I have undergone, I 
humbly trust, has strengthened me in rectitude; and, 
although I have lived in the atmosphere of wretched- 
ness, it is as abhorrent to me — as loathing to my 
sight — as it would be were it to meet the eyes of ei- 
ther of those sweet beings I have just quitted !” 

“ But,” she continued, interrupting Lady Belmont, 
who was about to speak, “ forgive me, for thus tres- 
passing farther on your attention, but, perhaps, you 
will kindly allow me, at once, to unburden the fulness 
of my heart, and then I will not again tax your for- 
bearance. The ardent wish, which has haunted me 
<VOL. II. — 3 


26 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


by night, and has never, for a moment, deserted me 
*by day; for the realization of which I have panted, 
with a degree of anxiety, you, dear madam, can 
never imagine, whtf are surrounded by every earthly 
felicity ; this longing desire I have now attained. I 
have seen you all once more — again have you smiled, 
with affection upon me, and I ought to be, and am, 
satisfied.” 

But this last word was pronounced with a heavy, 
deep-drawn sigh, which told how much of self-devo- 
tion — of resignation — had been necessary, to enable 
her to utter it; and Lady Belmont told me afterwards, 
there was something so irresistibly plaintive in the 
pathos of her voice, that she felt she had not power to 
interrupt her. It was with difficulty she restrained 
her own tears. 

Rosalie continued, M I am come to you to say, that 
weighed down as I am with the excess of your good- 
ness, I never will be ungrateful, I could not bear that 
your indulgence towards me, should be at variance 
with the dictates of the strict principles you have laid 
down, with regard to your children. 1 beseech you 
therefore, if you for a moment imagine that my pre- 
sence will be detrimental to them, either in the eyes 
of the censuring world, or in any other respect, say 
but the word, my kind, my excellent benefactress, and 
your wishes shall be implicitly obeyed ; you may rely 
upon me. Far be it from my thoughts, that you 
should discontinue your kindness, your good will, I 
feel certain, I shall ever retain ; your eye of protec- 
tion will never be withdrawn from me, and although 
I may not see the hand of benevolence which is 
stretched out to befriend me, though my trial may be 
sore, it will only be of shorter duration — for as sure 
as there is a heaven to which, I in all humility aspire, 
as certain is it that my days are numbered. I feel it, 
dear lady, here,” she exclaimed, as she pressed her 
hand to her chest ; “ there is my secret. But you 
weep,” she continued, suddenly turning and percieving 
that the eyes of Lady Belmont were overflowing with 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


27 


drops of tender sympathy, “ are those precious tears 
for me, the honoured, favoured Rosalie? or are they 
tears of pity, forerunners of my doom?” and again she 
fell on her knees before Lady Belmont, and hid her 
face in the folds of her garment. 

“ My sweet Rosalie,” at length Lady Belmont re- 
plied, much affected, “ I cannot bear to hear you talk 
thus. Compose yourself and listen to me. 1 will be 
candid and explicit. But fear not, I have nothing to 
say that can give you pain. It delights me to hear 
you speak so sensibly, to find that your mind is re- 
plete with principles so just, so proper. I feel that I 
can rely upon you at once, and when you are wdth us 
I shall think of you, only as the Rosalie of Fairbourne; 
I shall forget the other character, which you are 
obliged to personify. I have heard from Mr. Leslie, 
how nobly, how beautifully you have conducted your- 
self through the various trials under which you have 
been placed ; I admire, I honour you for it. I have 
only one thing to add,” continued the Marchioness, 
with some slight hesitation, u Rosalie, you must be 
aware of your great attractions, therefore, you must 
take care not to bewitch the senses of my wild Henry. 
J see you have already made a conquest of one of my 
sons,” and she smiled as she looked at the little Al- 
gernon, who during this conversation, had been watch- 
ing the countenance of Rosalie, with his sweet intelli- 
gent eyes; by degrees he had crept closer and closer to 
her, and at length, having fairly nestled himself upon her 
knee, and thrown one- of his arms around her neck, he 
looked up into her tearful face with an expression, in 
which curiosity and kindly sympathy were mingled. 
Her sweetness and loveliness had attracted even his 
•infantine heart. 

The last words of Lady Belmont had assailed the 
heart of Rosalie with many varied feelings. There 
was much of joy, of gratification amongst the crowd 
of sensations which were overpowering her. But no 
bliss in this world is without its alloy;, in what the 
Marchioness had. said, there was one allusion, that 


28 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


stung her with a pang of remorse. She felt she had 
exalted herself too highly in the opinion of her pa- 
troness, that she had not laid bare to her, the whole 
secrets of her heart; but as she hid her blushing face 
amidst the clustering curls, which grew in such pro- 
fusion on the fair head of the sweet child, and whilst 
she pressed him fondly to her bosom, she mentally 
breathed a vow that all her presumptuous, though 
fondly cherished thoughts and feelings, should be im- 
molated at the shrine of her gratitude. She would 
tear the beloved idol from her heart, though by this 
deed, she would leave it, bleeding — hopeless; but so 
she resolved, and Rosalie’s spirit was firm, her self- 
devotion, perfect. 

At this period of the interview, they were inter- 
rupted. The door was quickly opened, and now was 
the trial of her fortitude, her self-possession. A 
countenance presented itself to her view, it was no 
other than that of Fitz-Ernest, who, having heard 
that Rosalie was with his mother, at once deter- 
mined to seek her. He was followed by Gertrude, 
who thought she had been quite long enough sepa- 
rated from her friend. 

Rosalie moved not — spoke not. She only held 
the little Algernon closer in her arms. She felt her 
courage failing; the moment of enthusiasm was past, 
and with a countenance, pale as death, she at length 
lifted up her head from the silken bed, on which she 
had laid her cheek, to receive with some semblance 
of composure, the warm, the affectionate greeting of 
Fitz-Ernest ; but she had not power to utter a sen- 
tence. She was only able to raise her eyes for a 
moment, to take her last look of love, for, from that 
instant all must change! And then again she bent 
over the boy, and prayed for support, for strength ; 
the spirit may pray when no words are spoken, and 
the only hope which sustains the wretched, is the 
blessed idea, that our merciful' Father hears the groan 
of the labouring heart which no words can utter. 

I had by this time joined the party. There was a 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


29 


brief pause in the conversation ; each seemed ab- 
sorbed with some feeling which made him silent. 
Lady Belmont was looking with a mother’s eye upon 
the sweet picture which Rosalie and her darling boy 
at that moment represented ; it might have been 
compared to an animated likeness of some of the 
beautiful designs of the Madonna and child. A sun- 
beam from the window had fallen upon the two 
figures, and threw a rich tint of colouring over them, 
which rendered the effect most striking. 

The feelings which agitated Filz-Ernest and paled 
his cheek were, perhaps, of a very varied nature. 
They were not agreeable certainly, for a gloom over- 
shadowed his countenance. Perchance he thought 
of his plighted vows, and his heart smote him for his 
want of allegiance to her, who had a right to claim 
his every thought; he might have been thinking with 
regret, of the claims which in honour bound him to 
another. 

Lady Gertrude did not allow the silence long to 
continue ; she said, “ Mamma, what have you been 
doing to Rosalie 1 she is looking so melancholy, so 
pale. Dear Algy,” she continued, “ you are tiring 
Rosalie ; come to Gertrude.” And she endeavoured 
to take the child into her own arms ; but there seemed 
to be a mutual sympathy, suddenly raised in the bo- 
soms of these two new acquaintances, for the child 
appeared loth to leave Rosalie, and said — 

“ I don’t tire you, pretty lady, .do I V* She loves 
me, Gertrude, very much, Pm sure, and I love her, 
and Algy will try to make her happy, and not so sad;” 
and the little fellow kissed her, and again looked 
with much sensibility into the countenance of Rosalie. 

“Rosalie,” said Lady Belmont, speaking cheerful- 
ly, anxious to reassure her young. friend, about whom 
there was a degree of irresistible charm which influ- 
enced every one in a most extraordinary and power- 
ful manner, and which had wrought its spell already 
upon the Marchioness, “ Fitz-Ernest and Gertrude 
have a great deal to tell you, many confessions to 
3 * 


30 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


make, and new friends, to whom they will be desirous 
to introduce you.” 

“ Oh, mamma !” said Gertrude, smiling and blush- 
ing ; “ do you think I could be an hour in Rosalie’s 
society, without letting her into all my secrets ; she 
has already heard my little history, but Fitz-Ernest 
has his to relate.” 

Rosalie started, perceptibly, and I saw that there 
was a glance of eagerness in her eyes, as she quickly 
turned them, for a moment, on Fitz-Ernest, who co- 
loured violently, and began to busy himself in looking 
over some books- that lay upoathe table; but he spoke 
not a word. 

I felt that this was a very nervous moment, and 
would have given worlds to change the subject, but 
Lady Belmont seemed determined to pursue it, and 
continued:- — “Yes, indeed, Rosalie, we shall be all 
gainers; you will have new and kind friends, and 1 
shall acquire the addition of another delightful son 
and daughter. I see, Fitz-Ernest leaves it to me to 
tell his tale. We are to have a double marriage ;. he 
is to be united to the Lady Constance Delaval, and 
she is a choice worthy of our most fond affection.” 

Fitz-Ernest still remained silent;, he seemed quite 
absorbed in the contemplation of the prints before 
him; but he now started up suddenly, and approach- 
ing the window, said, in a hurried tone of voice, “ I 
must go for a moment, and give some directions to 
my servant,’’ and' immediately left the room. 

No one knew, but myself, what was passing in his 
mind. Alas! I felt many of my sad forebodings likely 
to be realized, and then I looked at Rosalie; but, 
again, her face was hid from my view, she was still 
bending over the child, and her dark hair fell over, 
and shaded her countenance. Fortunately, we were 
interrupted by the entrance of others, and when she 
turned towards me, she was composed, though very 
pale. 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


31 


CHAPTER V. 

This ought to have been a smiling season to Rosa- 
lie, for kindness and encouragement were showered' 
upon her from all' sides, ft was not from one, alone, 
of the Belmont family ; every member of it seemed 
to vie with each other in the demonstrations of their 
affection and interest, from the head of the house, the 
good Marquis — to the least, though not less favoured 
of the party, the lovely little Algernon. 

And Rosalie’s heart did swell with- gratitude, and a 
feeling of comfort — of security — soothed, and gave 
a more healthful tone to her mind. She felt an ele- 
vation of spirit within her: — like a flower that had 
been blighted and half-broken, by the ravaging ef- 
fects of an east wind, and which, by degrees, raises 
its drooping head, softened by the mild drops of a re- 
freshing shower, and warmed into Hfe by the sun- 
beam, so were Rosalie’s crushed affections brightened 
into something like happiness, by-that genial glow 
which benevolence and sympathy impart to the ach- 
ing heart. But, still, where can we look for un- 
measured felicity? Notin this world of uncertainty, 
of disappointment. 

In the midst of all this newly recovered comfort, 
the heart of our heroine was not without its pangs ; 
there was one thorn rankling ia it, which pressed, 
even deeper, into the wound. “ The heart, alone, 
knoweth its own bitterness.” It is one of those in- 
scrutable mysteries of nature, which, to our eyes, are 
impenetrable, the interests that the soul has of its own, 
which are of a nature so totally distinct from those of 
the body. But, so it is; and iUs as liable to disease, 
and to wounds as agonizing, as any of those to which 
the corporeal frame is subject, and often, far more 


32 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


grievous are the pangs which from thence proceed ; 
for, if the disease which rankles in the heart — if that 
which should sustain the sufferer only serves to irri- 
tate and torment — to what quarter can the afflicted 
look for relief, or to what medicine apply? The dart 
is fixed in the breast, but there is no possibility of ex- 
tracting it. 

The professional career of Rosalie was most bril- 
liant at this period. The countenance she received 
from the Belmont family, so unqualified and unlimi- 
ted, rendered her still more conspicuous and interest- 
ing in the eyes of the world. I, a silent, though ob- 
servant spectator of all that was passing, could not 
help feeling a little amused at seeing all Lady Belmont’s 
scruples melt into air under the influence of the magi- 
cal charm which my prol£g£e seemed to exercise over 
all their senses; and, perhaps, nothing so completely 
laid hold of the heart of the mother, as the excessive 
affection and tenderness, which Rosalie evinced to- 
wards the youthful Algernon. He, certainly, was a 
charming child, and, added to his being the youngest 
of the family, which, very often, creates a peculiar 
feeling of love in the heart of a parent, he was a most 
fragile, delicate being, and precocious, to a degree, in 
intellect, which rendered all those who were so in- 
tensely interested about him fearfully anxious. . He 
seemed too beautiful — too highly gifted, for a long ex- 
istence in this world — loo etherial for any place but 
heaven ! 


“ Oh, boy ! of such as thou; art oftenest made 
Earth’s fragile idols ; like a tender flower, 

No strength in all thy freshness — prone to fade, 
And, bending weakly to the thunder-shower, 

Still, round the loved, thy heart found force to bind, 
And clung, like woodbine shaken in the wind.” 


There was more than one charm that bound him in 
attraction to Rosalie. She could trace a most striking 
likeness in him to Fitz-Ernest. Not only in feature did 
he resemble him, but the expression of his countenance- 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


33 


in all his little actions, recalled to her constantly, the 
idea of his brother. It was quite extraordinary to 
witness the spell which seemed to influence both these 
young beings. The indulged boy, whose every wish 
was a command to his doating anxious parents, ap- 
peared at once to have fixed all his love upon Rosalie. 
He was always asking for her, and when she was in 
the house, could never be prevailed upon to leave her; 
if she would only sing to him, the effect it produced 
upon the child was really surprising. The little fel- 
low was rapt, enchanted, and would evince a sensibi- 
lity, very uncommon at his young age. 

All this was very bewitching to the parents. Many 
of my readers may, perchance, be able to enter into 
the weakness of a mother’s heart; and oftentimes did 
Lady Belmont softly lead the Marquis into the room 
where Rosalie was seated, unconcious that she was 
observed, with the sweet delicate looking child, 
half sleeping on her knee : whilst she sung to him in a 
sjibdued tone with that voice of unsurpassed loveli- 
ness, some long remembered ditty, once a favourite 
amongst the children at Belmont Abbey. It is easy 
to imagine that when the doating parents beheld this 
interesting picture, their hearts inclined towards the 
young girl, with admiration and love, and that they 
shut their eyes against any impediment, which reason 
might have suggested as wise and necessary precau- 
tion. As far as regarded their sons, they felt quite at 
ease about Fitz-Ernest. His engagement was his 
safeguard. Not for a moment did the idea of any ob- 
struction to its completion enter their imagination ; 
and when they thought of Lord Henry, the only other 
son who was grown up — and the Marquis and Mar- 
chioness did sometimes talk over the subject — they 
quickly stifled every little feeling of prudence which 
might havn presented itself to their minds, by recol- 
lecting that his nature was too volage for any serious fan- 
cy; and they had too great a reliance upon Rosalie’s 
conscientious rectitude, to think that she would encour- 
age attentions from him, should they assume a character 


34 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


different from the intercourse which had so long sub- 
sisted between them. Having thus satisfied them- 
selves, Lord and Lady Belmont, whose only fault — 
could it be thus termed — was that of indulging to the 
utmost excess, their children, whom they idolized, al- 
lowed matters to take their course; and Rosalie spent 
all the time she could spare from her laborious musical 
avocations, at Belmont House. 

I watched all this with great anxiety, for I had a 
pressentimejit that all would not go on well, f And oh! 
what a dreadful feeling is self-reproach At this mo- 
ment I still feel its stings rankling in my heart. I 
ought to have spoken out, and not to have allow-ed 
matters thus to proceed, for I guessed it all. I saw 
that there was torture in many hearts, there was a cross 
play going forward, which was working evils for all ; 

I saw that Fitz-Ernest was unhappy, unsettled. It 
was a constant warring between principle, honour, 
duty, and evident inclination, and 1 know that he suf- 
fered deeply, during this period of infatuation, or fas- 
cination— by either name, I may designate it. 

He felt himself bound, by every tie to Lady Con- 
stance. The fair fame of his illustrious family was 
concerned in his fulfilling honourably his engagement. 
He was perfectly aware that the heart of one of the 
mostamiable of human beings was devoted tohim — that 
his coldness — his apparent neglect was paining it sadly. 
He had seen many a tear tremble in her mild eye as 
she watched his countenance, which he felt but too 
truly was changed in its aspect, when he now address- 
ed her. He was perfectly aware of the alteration, 
and although unable to command himself, he despised 
and deplored the weakness of his heart. However 
deprecating his own folly, still he continued spell- 
bound. He was hugging chains to his heart, which 
he felt were destruction, and in his present state of 
feelings, he had not even the consolation of pouring 
forth his embarrassing — his torturing thoughts; they 
must be stifled in secret ; the slave of passion can un- 
bosom himself to no friend, for instead of sympathy, 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


35 


what can he expect, save reproach or at best, con- 
temptuous pity ! 

Fitz-Ernest’s feelings, at this moment, were all at 
variance with each other — a strange mixture of con- 
trariety. He was passionately enamoured of Rosalie 
— but still, strange to say, through all this maze of 
passion, there were sentiments towards Lady Con- 
stance, which lingered and hovered before his view. 
He could not forget her many excellencies, above all 
her devoted love towards himself. And then he re- 
membered, with grief, the anxious desire of his pa- 
rents — whose wishes hitherto had been his dearest 
law — that this union should take place. 

And Fitz-Ernest was not free from a degree of 
wordly pride. He had been educated with the strict- 
est notions as to what was due to his rank and sta- 
tion in life; and he, the head of the family was he not 
imperatively called upon to support its dignity? How 
could that be better accomplished than by a marriage 
with the high-born Constance^that charming accom- 
plished girl, formed by nature and education for the 
exalted station in which she moved, and by every 
feminine attraction so calculated to render a husband 
happy. 

Man is an extraordinary being. Passions, when 
they seize upon the mind, conquer and overpower 
him ; the balance of his soul is lost, he is no longer his 
own master; he may be sensible of the wo-und, he may 
deplore it; but if that integrity of purpose, which ever 
before had strengthened him, is enfeebled and broken, 
if that to which he had recourse for the cure of other 
sorrows, has become the afflicted part, this, in the 
strictest sense, indeed, is the heart’s own bitterness, 
from which it is not in the power of any external cir- 
cumstance whatever to afford it relief. And true it 
is, that punishment always follows closely upon the 
footsteps of error. The agony of mind, which Fitz- 
Ernest suffered, was retribution itself. 

That excellent Lady Constance! It must ever be 
with respect and admiration, that I recall the remem- 


36 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


brance of the manner in which she conducted herself 
throughout this most trying season. Perhaps I alone, 
amongst the party, was aware how much she felt, 
and how nobly, but with what feminine delicacy she 
regulated her demeanour. 

All the rest of the Belmont party seemed, with one 
accord, bewitched by Rosalie; her beauty — her music 
— the romance with which they invested her, besides 
that extraordinary charm, which she certainly pos- 
sessed in a manner hardly to be imagined, and the 
shrinking humble modest demeanour, with which she 
gratefully — almost reverentially received the kindness 
that was heaped upon her, was assuredly very beau- 
tiful — very attractive. I was curious to see what 
line of conduct Lady Constance would pursue to- 
wards her. She had been absent from London, with 
the Earl her father, during the fortnight that succeed- 
ed Rosalie’s debut, and I awaited her return with 
much anxiety. It chanced that I happened to be 
present when our heroine was just introduced to her, 
and to me it was a most interesting sight, divining as 
I did completely, the feelings that were passing in 
both their minds. 

The morning after her return from the country, 
Lady Constance, as was her wont, at an early hour, 
was in Lady Gertrude’s sitting room; Rosalie having 
obtained a holiday, was passing the whole day at Bel- 
mont house; she was at that moment in the nursery 
with the little Lord Algernon, who was slightly in- 
disposed. 

Lady Gertrude, after the first salutations were 
passed, exclaimed, addressing herself to her friend, 
“ Now, Constance, I will really 'go and bring that tire- 
some Rosalie to you. I have a good excuse for draw- 
ing her from the nursery, from whence I have not yet 
been able to move her; that darling little cxigeant 
Algernon entirely engrosses her; but I shall go and 
tell her that you want to see her, and then she must 
come, bon gri mal grL ” 

“ Oh pray do not make me disagreeable to her,” 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


37 


Constance replied quickly; — “ don’t, Gertrude, make 
her come against her inclination.” 

I thought these words were uttered in a tone less 
soft than usual, but I might be mistaken. However, 
Gertrude was off like a dart, and when she left the 
room, Lady Constance was silent; but I saw that she 
looked nervous and restless — that her eyes wandered 
to the door, whilst she listened, with impatience, for 
every approaching footstep. 

I went to the window with the newspaper, and con- 
cealed by the hanging drapery of the curtain, I seated 
myself; but interested as 1 was in this scene, it may 
be imagined that I could not help watching the coun- 
tenance of the fair being, who had now most certainly 
a trial to encounter. 

How would she meet Rosalie? 

If ever her kind, her benevolent heart had cherished 
feelings of dislike, distrust, and I may almost say 
envy, these passions so ungenial to such a mind as 
hers, had been engendered — not only by the idea, but 
by the appearance of our poor cantatrice. She 
shrunk from the idea of the nearer contemplation of 
beauty — of fascination which she felt— and 1 fear too 
truly — had eclipsed, and thrown into the shade, her 
own mild graces. The woman's heart was mortified* 
her warm affections damped by coldness of manner 
from the idol of her heart, which she attributed tothe w 
more powerful attractions of another; can it be won- 
dered that her very soul recoiled at the idea of find- 
ing herself face to face with her rival, forced to hold 
out to her the hand of friendship? this, she thought 
would be worse than hypocrisy ; and Constance al- 
most trembled as the door opened, and Lady Ger- 
trude entered, leading the object of her meditations 
by the hand. For my part, 1 started with dismay 
when I looked at Rosalie— so ghastly was her coun- 
tenance. 

But Gertrude without observing this, led her at once 
to Lady Constance, saying, “ Here, Constance, I 
have brought you our -Rosalie* and I must leave her 

vol. n. — 4 


38 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


with you for a few moments, whilst you make your 
acquaintance, for I have promised to return to Alger- 
non, who is outrageous at being left and as she 
spoke she placed Rosalie’s hand within that of her 
friend ; “ you must promise to love her and value her 
as we do,” and so saying, she tripped away. Con- 
stance, whose eyes had been steadily averted, now, 
for the first time, looked at the poor girl. Her face, 
generally so pale, was flushed, her first glance was 
cold, but it was curious to observe, how, in a mo- 
ment, her countenance softened, when Rosalie, with 
that gracefulness which I believe belonged solely to 
herself, (for never, never have I seen any thing like 
it) bent over the hand of Lady Constance which she 
pressed to her lips: by this action, her countenance 
Was completely concealed, but there was, in the fer- 
vent pressure, in the humble beseeching manner, that 
which expressed far more than words could have 
conveyed. It was, at once, an appeal to the gene- 
rous heart, whose kindness it supplicated, and the ef- 
fect it produced on Constance was instantaneous; she 
could almost forgive her for being the object of admi- 
ration of such pity — even to Fitz-Ernest. 

She raised her, spoke words of kindness, and then 
the large eyes of Rosalie turned and fixed themselves, 
with a long and scrutinizing glance, upon the counte- 
nance of the noble young lady, which certainly never 
appeared to more advantage, for its expression was 
animated by feelings so beautiful in themselves, that 
they radiated the features from whence they beamed. 

Rosalie gazed so long — so intently upon her, that 
the eyes of Constance sunk abashed; perceiving it, 
she spoke, and the tones of her voice were low and 
musical. 

“Lady, forgive me, but I have long wished to look 
upon you, and oh, how satisfied, how thankful I feel !” 
and she raised her eyes in silent gratitude. “You 
must be aware how much I owe to Lord Fitz-Ernest,” 
this name she pronounced with clearness and with a 
degree of firmness I should hardly have expected.. 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


39 


“He is about to be married; you little imagine how 
fervently I have prayed, that she who is to be his 
bride, might be deserving of such a destiny. I have 
now seen you, I have looked into your countenance, 
and there I discover the impress of every thing that 
is good — is excellent, and I am contented, and I may 
hope, that in future days, long after I am gone, when 
the recollection of Rosalie has left no other trace, but 
that of the impression caused by a sad dream, my kind 
benefactor will be happy, blest in the affections of one 
noble as himself, gentle and excellent.” 

Tears rose in the eyes of Lady Constance, but a 
smile, a gleam of satisfaction seemed to illumine her 
countenance with new-born confidence ; she placed 
an arm softly round the waist of Rosalie, and pressed 
her lips upon her forehead. It, was at once the kiss 
of awakened affection, forgiveness, and gratitude. 

It was too much for the overcharged feelings of 
Rosalie. She disengaged herself from the embrace, 
and kneeling at the feet of her noble rival, all the 
agitated emotions of her heart appeared to burst 
forth — she wept aloud. 

At this moment the door opened, and Fitz-Ernest 
entered. On viewing the scene before him, he stood 
transfixed — surprised — dismayed. He turned pale as 
death, as with a bewildered eye he gazed upon the 
two fair girls. 

I saw in a moment what embarrassing consequences 
would arise from the scene, and coming forward, I 
hastily said, “ Fitz-Ernest, Rosalie has been, for the 
first time, presented to Lady Constance, and the kind 
manner in which she received her has much affected 
her ; her nerves and spirits are so very weak, and so 
easily excited.” 

A brief, but painful, pause succeeded, but in ano- 
ther instant Fitz-Ernest had lifted Rosalie from the 
position she had taken, and supporting her tenderly in 
his arms, exclaimed in accents which conveyed to the 
ear most plainly how much he felt, “Dearest, sweet- 
est Rosalie, why do I find you thus! do not agonize 


40 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


me, by shedding those tears.” Too truly did his 
manner evince the impassioned state of his feelings. 

And Lady Constance; I see her now, in my mind’s 
eye; with a heightened colour she sat, her bosom 
heaving with the wounded feelings that were throbbing 
in her breast ; and wholly was she disregarded^ at 
that moment, by her affianced Lord. 

She saw him press in his arms the beautiful girl 
who, she so long imagined, had been her rival in his 
affections. It seemed, at once, the destruction of 
every long cherished hope, the ice-bolt that was to 
turn her heart to stone; and the roses faded from her 
cheek, and left her paler than before. 

This distressing scene was not of long duration. 
Only for a short moment did Rosalie’s self-possession 
leave her; for one short moment, alone, did she in- 
dulge in felicity, which she knew was not for her to 
taste; and w r armly did she excite my admiration, as 
well as my surprise, by the extraordinary tact, and 
sensible manner, in which she extricated herself from 
this very embarrassing position. Creditable was it, 
indeed, to her in every way. 

Whether she read in the countenance of Lady Con- 
stance what was passing so painfully, in her mind, or, 
by the quick perception of the female heart, the real 
state of the case presented itself to her, 1 know not; 
but I, remember that she looked with a penetrating 
eye upon the young lady, and then, starting forward, 
seized her hand, and placing it within that of Filz-Er- 
nest, who, I fear, but too passively received it, said, 
in a voice trembling with emotion: “ Believe me, this 
is as I have wished — have prayed — that I might see 
you; with every hope, with every anticipation of 
happiness within your grasp. To witness the filicity 
of those I love, is the only joy to which I have ever 
dared to aspire. Endeavour to obtain for me, Lord 
Fitz-Ernest, the friendship of that sweet young lady, 
and you will indeed, have richly added to all I have 
before received in kindness from you.” 

These words restored Fitz-Ernest’s scattered senses; 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


41 


they were spoken with earnestness, and directed his 
attention, for the first time, towards Lady Constance; 
the remembrance of all he owed to her — his situation 
— his engagement, rushed to his mind; he turned his 
eyes upon her, and his heart smote him with the 
pang of self-reproach, when he perceived the air of 
deep dejection which had spread itself over her coun- 
tenance; and when she sorrowfully, though mildly, 
said — “ Rosalie, you ask for my friendship, and you 
shall have it; but, I think that you are far richer in 
friends — in the warm attachment of others — than I, 
from whom you solicit kindness.” There was a sad- 
ness, a depth of feeling, in the tone of her voice, 
which rang reproachfully upon the ear of Fitz-Er- 
nest. 

I saw how fearfully his heart was torn by con- 
tending emotions — how many varied passions were 
striving inwardly for the mastery. I felt that it was 
incumbent upon me to put an immediate end to the 
scene, and endeavoured, by mingling in the conversa- 
tion, and imperatively changing it, to come to the re- 
lief of the agitated trio. 

A gloom and restraint, however, hung over us all, 
and I breathed much more freely, when the entrance 
of some of the lively young people terminated an in- 
terview fraught with so much discomfort to all. 


—• wt«® 


CHAPTER VI. 

The present position of Rosalie, was undoubtedly 
in all ways, much in her favour ; and even Gabrielli 
who, in the first instance had dreaded her intimacy 
with these great people, began, not only to perceive, 
but to reap the advantages which were daily arising 
from it. Her success at the Opera was so unqualified, 
that, at private concerts, her presence was now con- 
4 * 


42 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA* 


stantly sought; and no sum that the avaricious ItaliaiP 
could ask, was thought too exorbitant to secure the 
attendance of such a star. As a master, Gabrielli 
was more than ever coveted; for the w r ell known pa- 
tronage of this respected- and noble family, and the 
modest deportment, added to the musical perfection 
of his pupil, very much enhanced his credit in the eyes 
of the admiring public. 

Gabrielli now thought it prudent to remove from 
his disreputable lodgings, to some in a more conspicu- 
ous and eligible situation. This was a source of re- 
joicing to Rosalie, as the change to the airy cheerful 
apartments of their new abode, she trusted might im- 
prove the health and spirits of her still suffering mo* 
ther. 

This poor woman lingered on with little or no 
chance of recovery. Bub there are positions in this 
world, which very much alleviate the pangs, and 
lighten the idea of gloom which encompasses the ex- 
pectation of death. To her the world afforded but 
few and scanty gleams of sunshine. The present 
was full of anxiety and misery, and, as she looked to- 
wards the future, all seemed dark and cheerless. 
Self-reproach was one of her sharpest stings; the 
torture of her disease could scarcely be more insup- 
portable than the agony caused by the self-accusing 
feeling which ever presented itself to her mind. 

However, affliction had performed its blessed work 
of reformation, and, with heartfelt satisfaction, I found, 
from my almost daily conversations with her, that 
her sufferings here, were fitting her to quit this world, 
with her spirit purified and elevated bevond the things 
of this life. 

But it was natural that she should be full of solici- 
tude for her daughter. Had it not been for this one 
anxious tie, racked, as she was, with torturing pain, 
totally neglected by her husband, and knowing, too 
well, the character of the man in whose power she 
had placed her child, she would gladly have hailed 
the moment of her dissolution. But this knowledge 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


43 


made her wish to linger, even in sorrow and anguish ; 
for with shuddering dread she thought of Gabrielli 
and his sister, who, she knew too well, would not 
scruple to barter her for gold. 

Johnson had alarmed the unfortunate woman by 
rather incautiously communicating her suspicions, 
that Sir Francis Somerville’s views were encouraged 
by her husband. Scarcely a day elapsed but some 
mark of his attention was shown to the family. He 
was profuse in his civilities, and presents, to Gabrielli 
and Myrtilla; and towards Rosalie, with more tact 
and delicacy, he assiduously endeavoured to evince 
his anxiety to please. Beautiful flowers were daily 
sent to her, new publications, and once did he pre- 
sume to offer her a most valuable set of ornaments; 
but she was peremptory in her refusal, although by if 
she brought upon herself the undisguised rage of Ga- 
brielli. 

The idea of Sir Francis was always assimilated, in 
her mind, with that of insult and Ijpmilialion. What 
I had hinted to her upon the subject, had made even 
a deeper impression than I either expected or intend- 
ed ; and much as she was with the Belmont fami- 
ly, there was a feeling which prevented her alluding; 
in any w’ay, to her acquaintance with the Baronet. 
As I have often before said, her perceptions were 
clear and quick-sighted, and she felt that she should 
be disparaging herself in the eyes of those, front 
whom she so much coveted consideration, should they 
imagine, that under her present circumstances, she 
was even acquainted, with a man whose character 
was so little respected by the family. 

Her manner towards him, w'hen they met, and that 
through the machinations of Gabrielli, frequently oc- 
curred, was cold and repulsive, a very great contrast 
to the cmpressement he evinced towards her, and had 
Rosalie not been of a most peculiar temperament and 
almost, I may say, unnaturally free from vanity, it 
rmist have somewhat touched her, to witness the de- 


44 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


voted respect, the admiring attention, which he would 
gladly have paid her. 

And truly Somerville was completely captivated — 
entangled in the snare, which he had ever so success- 
fully laid out for others. He was struggling in the 
chains, and she whom he fain would have made his 
captive, was free, and looked upon him with scorn — 
with the cold eye of distrust. All his former intrigues 
had cost him but little trouble; he had only to say he 
loved, and was but too certain to be loved in return. 
His good looks — his position in life, and ready flowing 
wealth, had been like wands of enchantment. But in 
the present case, strange to say, he saw little chance 
of success. 

This beautiful girl, with all the disadvantages of 
her situation—an Opera singer — living under the pro- 
tection of a man, who although he styled himself, by 
law, her father — was totally devoid of principle, and 
whose services might be bought. 

And then the woman Myrtilla! In any other case, 
her disreputable character might have forwarded his 
views. But notwithstanding all these obstacles, the 
young girl seemed as impenetrable — as inaccessible, 
as if she had been encircled by a band of fire. 

There was a dignity in her own demeanour, 
which alone would have distanced presumptuous 
freedom ; but added to this, how powerful was the 
countenance which she received from the Belmont 
family ! 

All this was very discouraging ; he was disappointed 
— provoked ; but he would not despair. No, the prize 
was well worth the struggle. Could it be possible, 
that she would long look coldly upon him! Self-ap- 
probation came to his relief. He thought with confi- 
dence upon his numerous advantages. 

Little did Sir Francis reflect, when he thus sought 
only the fulfilment of his vicious desires, that it was 
possible he might awake the sleeping thunder, and 
bring it down from heaven on his unexpecting head. 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


45 


CHAPTER VII. 

It was at a concert given by their Majesties at the 
palace of St. James, that Sir Francis had an oppor- 
tunity of again seeing Rosalie. He was standing lean- 
ing against a wall, with his arms folded, and his eyes 
intently fixed upon the beautiful singer. 

She was sitting in the midst of a group of other pro- 
fessors. There was a distinguished look pervading 
her whole bearing which singled her out, in a most 
extraordinary manner, from the rest, and was strange- 
ly at variance with her position. 

Her dress was, as usual, simple and unostenta- 
tious. She interfered very little in its arrangement ; 
she was only scrupulous as to the colour- — which was 
white. 

However, to do honour to the illustrious persons, 
before whom she was to appear, her attire consisted 
of more costly materials than she usually wore. A 
rich white satin had been chosen for her, but she had 
no other ornament but the choicest bouquet of flowers 
— the gift of Arturo. 

With flowers she was always most plentifully sup- 
plied. Her fondness for them was well known to all 
those who wished to gratify her, and her friends 
seemed to vie with each other in their anxiety to in- 
dulge- this fancy. 

But she did not dare to wear any bouquet in public, 
save that provided for her by the young Italian. She 
knew that if she were to put his aside for any other, 
it would go near to break his heart. 

Indeed it seemed to be his only remaining pleasure 
— the only gleam of sunshine, that appeared to illu- 
mine for a moment, his sad countenance, when 'he 
brought the flowers to her door every morning, and 


46 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


sometimes was permitted, with his own hands, to offer 
them. 

He watched her smile when she received his gift 
— drank in with delight her every word of thanks 
— her looks of pleasure — then for a moment did his 
eyes become brilliant — his pale face glow with a 
shade of colour. 

Dear youth ! it was very interesting, but sad to watch 
that speaking countenance ; it told a tale at once of 
emotions too strong — too overpowering for his peace 
of mind. 

Gabrielli, upon whom the success of all his under- 
takings produced a degree of good humour, had be- 
come less strict in his prohibition of Arturo’s visits to 
Rosalie ; and owing also in a great measure to the 
professional duty, which rendered it necessary that 
they should meet, their interviews now more frequently 
occurred. 

This would have been a real source of pleasure to 
Rosalie, for truly did she feel a sister’s love towards 
Arturo ; but there was in his manner that, which some- 
what checked the demonstration of half the affection 
she felt for him. She was obliged to watch, with a 
cautious eye, to weigh every word, lest she should 
say too much, or too little, so great was his sensitive- 
ness, and so nervous did she feel whilst in his pre- 
sence. 

He was looking dreadfully ill, pale, haggard, his 
eyes hollow but with a fierce suspicious glance often 
flashing from them, which it pained me to observe. 

Unfortunate young man! His love was becoming 
stronger, and the more impetuously did it burn, as 
day by day he felt that it became more and more hope- 
less ; and I saw with fear, in his manner, a kind of 
jealous tenacity, Avith which he watched Rosalie, his 
eyes never leaving her, but to fix themselves upon 
those who presumed to regard her with looks of peculiar 
interest. I always felt a shuddering misgiving when 
I ventured to think how all this might terminate; and 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


47 


what strengthened my dread, was the circumstance of 
the great change in his temper and bearing. 

He was in no state to endure being reasoned with. 
If I spoke to him as I used to do, he appeared impa- 
tient, and would waive me off, saying, “ Leave me, 
leave me; I am a doomed wretch. Waste not your 
words, precious as they may be, on me.” 

Rosalie, who would have done much to serve him, 
with the tenderest regard to his feelings, would not, 
for the world, have hazarded the risk of paining him, 
by substituting for his offering, any of the more 
splendid flowers which the care of those who wished 
to please her, so amply provided ; and it was with 
mournful pleasure, which she well knew how to read, 
that he saw her decorated in these his gifts, a white 
rose perhaps vieing with the whiteness of her fair 
bosom. 

And oh ! it was ecstacy when he saw her inhale the 
sweet perfume of the blossoms she held in her hand ! 
It was to him, at least, she owed that one gratifica- 
tion, and to the love-sick boy, this idea, trifling as it 
was, might claim the name of joy. 

On the evening of the concert, Arturo was also in- 
cluded amongst the performers. Indeed, he was ge- 
nerally engaged to sing with RTTsalie, as their voices 
were never heard to such full perfection as when 
united. There was something peculiarly taking to the 
public in their appearance together. 

Strange to say, there was a degree of likeness be- 
tween them. There was a foreign cast in the counte- 
nance of Rosalie, her eyes and hair were so dark, 
they scarcely partook of that style so peculiar to Eng- 
lish beauty. They might easily have been taken for 
brother and sister ; and this created a species of - 
stage effect, which Gabrielli thought it an advantage 
to keep up. 

Arturo, as usual, took a position as near Rosalie as 
possible, in order that he might command a view of 
her countenance, upon the contemplation of which he 
was luxuriating, with a species of feeling almost 


48 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


amounting to happiness, when, on raising his eyes, by 
chance they encountered those of Sir Francis, feast- 
ing in the same direction. 

This sight must have been like a stroke of electri- 
city to the impetuous youth, and Rosalie who per- 
ceived the effect it produced upon him, told me that 
she was greatly alarmed when she saw the frightful 
expression which convulsed his features. She feared 
that he would dart forward and commit some terrible 
act. All that was in her power then to do, was to 
call him to her, and by talking to him, and soothing 
him; by praising the flowers, and reverting to the sub- 
ject of their duet endeavour to alter the course of his 
ideas. But she dwelt very much upon the terror that 
his conduct had occasioned her, and asked my advice 
as to what was best to be done. She said that really 
fear, for what he might do, sometimes made her so 
nervous that she could scarcely perform her allotted 
task. 

This evening was a very triumphant one to Rosa- 
lie, and had her feelings been unmixed she might have 
left this royal abode, proud and happy. 

Most flattering, indeed, was the applause and con- 
sideration she received from all. 

Immediately on the entrance of the Belmont family, 
who were the invited guests of their royal host, Lady 
Gertrude endeavoured to gain as soon as Hiquetle 
would permit, the nearest possible place by the or- 
chestra; and it was not long before she managed to 
draw Rosalie towards her. 

Her performance was never more perfect, for she 
was at that moment comparatively happy. She had 
a delightful motive to excite her to excellence. Her 
reward she saw before her, in the smiles of delight of 
those she most cared to gratify; and not all the rap- 
ture with which her talent was greeted, by the nu- 
merous and august assembly, no congratulation dwelt 
upon her ear, save that of the whispered eulogiums of 
her friends. 

However, a distinguished honour awaited her. The 


the young prima donna. 


49 


very interesting appearance of the young singer, added 
to the splendour of her voice, had created a vivid im- 
pression on the sovereign lady, in whose presence she 
stood. 

Lady Belmont was seated by the side of the Queen, 
and watched with much satisfaction, the effect which 
her protegee had produced. 

There was a plaintive expression in Rosalie’s voice, 
which went direct to the hearts of all those who lis- 
tened^ to her, and her Majesty was visibly affected by 
it. Certainly, the pathetic notes poured forth in such 
rich melody from one so young, so very lovely, much 
enhanced the beauty of the performance. 

When the song was ended, Lady Belmont saw her 
son Henry, who had been standing near the piano- 
forte, hanging entranced upon every note of sweetness 
which fell from her lips, approach Rosalie, and offer- 
ing her his arm, which she accepted, lead her to 
a seat where the Ladies de Vere made room for 
her. 

Her Majesty, who was also following with her eyes 
the movements of our heroine, turned to the Marchion- 
ess with rather an air of Surprise at the intimacy, 
which she saw existed between her family and the 
canlatrice. 

This gave Lady Belmont an opportunity of relating 
to the Queen, every detail concerning Rosalie, and she 
briefly sketched her story. No heart was ever more 
alive to generous feelings than that of the gracious 
sovereign, who kindly listened to the simple history. 
When it was finished, she indicated to Lady Belmont 
her desire that the young singer might be presented to 
her. 

Lady Belmont instantly obeyed. She felt both pride 
and pleasure in the office, for she knew how deserving 
was her young friend of this flattering notice. She, 
at once, thought it might have a salutary effect, upon 
the wounded spirits of the susceptible girl. 

It may be well imagined, that poor Rosalie’s heart 
beat high, with nervous trepidation, as she was led 

VOL. II. — 5 


50 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


forward to such an august presence. Notice from so 
exalted a quarter, must in any way have been flatter- 
ing, but how much more so, when it came from one 
whose domestic virtues, and strict notions of female 
propriety, were so well known and appreciated, 
amongst her admiring subjects. 

Every eye was upon the young girl, as she was thus 
conspicuously favoured; and I was told, by her anx- 
ious friends, who watched with painful solicitude, 
a scene so full of interest, that never had Rosalie ap- 
peared more attractive. Although evidently overcome 
by the unexpected honour, her gracefulness never for 
a moment forsook her, whilst she received, with hum- 
ble gratitude, the flattering and land commendations 
of the Queen. 

There was no servility in her demeanour; her man- 
ner was exactly what it ought to have been ; and 
whilst she bent low, to receive the salutation of the 
gracious lady, who thus condescended to address her, 
it was plain to perceive, that her homage came di- 
rectly from the heart. 

Many were the admiring glances directed towards 
the favoured Rosalie, and many a heart was enlisted 
in her cause. But there was one who witnessed the 
scene, on whom it made a most powerful change — a 
complete reaction of feeling. 

Sir Francis Somerville’s ideas at once seemed to 
Jake a very different current, and starting from the 
almost motionless position, in which he had so long 
remained, his eyes however, following every move- 
ment of Rosalie, he exclaimed inaudibly, “By all that 
is sacred — I will marry that girl. That will be the 
only chance I shall ever have of possessing her,” and 
as he glanced round the splendid and aristocratic cir- 
cle, where could he see one who — at least looked — 
more high bred— more patrician: and where could he 
find greater beauty — grace and even dignity. What 
an appendage she would be to all his splendour; and 
he felt almost surprised, that the idea had never struck 
him before. 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


51 


With these thoughts fresh, though strongly im- 
pressed upon his mind, he immediately made his way 
to that part of the room, where the ladies de Yere 
were standing, almost surrounding Rosalie. He en- 
tered directly into conversation with them, occasion- 
ally addressing our .heroine, with the most respectful 
deference. He never left the party again during the 
evening, although, when he first joined them, he did 
not feel quite certain, that his presence was peculiarly 
acceptable. 

The young ladies accosted him with good breeding, 
and that ease which their near relationship warranted, 
but it was evident, that they had not been upon terms 
of great intimacy with him ; however, no one knew 
how to make use of the arts of fascination, more 
completely than Sir Francis. With the advantage of 
the handsomest of faces — manners polished and re- 
fined — thoroughly versed in all the biensSances of the 
high society in which he lived, he had the power of 
leading captive, the imagination of all those whom he 
wished to enthral. 

The Ladies de Vere remembered having heard 
their parents mention him, in terms of disapprobation; 
they had a vague idea, that there was something 
wrong about him, but still, “ the voice of the charm- 
er” sounded pleasantly in their ears, the recollection of 
what they had heard passed away, and the young 
party at length threw off restraint, and chatted 
gaily with their cousin ; while Rosalie, reassured by 
their example, soon found herself softening, both in 
manner and feelings, towards the fascinating Baronet. 
Her heart, though one of a peculiar nature, was still 
that of a young and beautiful woman; and though its 
every avenue was guarded against love, yet it would 
be unnatural, to suppose that she was totally unsus- 
ceptible of that most insinuating of feelings — gratified 
self-approval. Perhaps this evening, the proud and 
distinguished notice she had received, fanned into life 
a spark of this emotion; certain it was, that under the 
protecting eye of her friends, she allowed — in a de- 


52 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


gree, the respectful, and marked attentions of the 
admiring Baronet; — at least she did not repulse them, 
as she had hitherto done, with that cold demeanour 
which had so completely daunted and distanced him. 

Sir Francis was so charmed, his spirits so raised 
by this delightful change, that he neither observed, 
nor had he done so, would he have heeded, the re- 
served manner of the young Lord Henry, upon whose 
mind dwelt a most vivid, and disagreeable impression, 
of the impertinent conversation commenced by Tem- 
pleton, in which Rosalie’s name had been handled so 
disrespectfully, lie could scarcely restrain his feel- 
ings of anger, as he saw this modest retiring girl, thus 
sought by one who had thought of her, under the most 
degrading circumstances. And Henry listened, with 
a degree of suspicion, to every word that was ad- 
dressed to her. 

Sir Francis had promised to himself, at least, the 
gratification of handing her into the carriage, when 
she was about to depart; but Lord Henry forestalled 
him, and it was with no very amicable feeling, that 
he saw his young cousin, whom he had until that very 
evening, regarded merely in the light of a boy, assume 
the character of a most favoured cavalier to the beau- 
tiful singer; and he could have gnashed his teeth with 
impotent rage, when he perceived the smile of con- 
fiding love, which she cast upon “ the beardless boy 1” 
whom now — and it was with a pang of disgust, that 
the idea shot across his imagination — he almost con* 
sidered in the light of a rival ; and then did he impa- 
tiently scan with jealous eye, the handsome form of 
this — as he styled him-r-presumptuous youth. He 
would have been well satisfied, had he known the na- 
ture of the feelings, which inclined Rosalie to look 
upon him as she did ; and perhaps Henry might have 
been mortified, if he could have seen into her heart, 
and there discovered that she loved him fondly — as 
the dear playmate of her youth — as the naughty mis- 
chievous Henr^, now grown good and kind; but 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


53 


was a love not at all likely to injure the cause of Sir- 
Francis — had she been predisposed to favour it. 

However, this last disappointment was very pro- 
voking, to the spirit of the spoilt man of indulgence; 
it was in no very amiable frame of mind, that he re- 
turned to his home, and as he threw himself upon a 
sofa, to ponder over the events of the past evening, he 
felt discomposed and baffled. Even the scheme he 
had formed, so honourable — so praiseworthy seemed 
beset with difficulties. 

“ How coldly she looked upon me !” — he thought, 
“ when contrasted with her manner, towards that ab- 
surd forward puppy of a boy. Upon my word,” he 
continued working himself into a rage, “ she does give 
herself airs — cursed airs, and what is she after all, or 
what would she be, had she not been taken up so in- 
judiciously by those priggish Belmonts. She ought to 
glory in my attentions. I wish 1 could divest myself 
of the impression she has made upon me — I who have 
all tfte world before me, from which I can pick and 
choose. — But it’s of no use,” he cried starling up, and 
traversing with hasty steps the apartment, “ there is 
a fate in every thing, I truly believe ; and until she is 
mine, strive as I may, I can never shake off the tram- 
mels which she has laid upon me. By Jove, it’s ex- 
traordinary — incomprehensible; there is something in 
the light of those large liquid eyes*which seems ever 
to flash upon my mind ; by day — by night her image 
is before me. I am an altered man; — every other 
pursuit, and pleasure appears to pall upon me;” and 
in truth the captivation of his senses had taken so 
strong a hold on the imagination of Sir Francis, that 
he felt his future destiny was fixed — irrevocable. 

But how to proceed in his plans? — This was a ques- 
tion that stajffled and perplexed him. From the Bel- 
monts he was certain he should meet with no encour- 
agement, for he was aware that he was regarded with 
little favour by them, and vainly had he sought her 
at the house of Gabrielli. 

Lt was strange — passing strange — that a girl, so- 

4 # 


54 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA, 


situated, should be so unapproachable, either by fair 
or foul means. But, so it was; and Sir Francis 
sighed for some friend in whom he could confide. It 
was an affair of such delicacy — such importance ! 

“ That fool Templeton, was useful as a listener, 
and would have done any thing, dirty or clean, to 
serve me ; but lately, since he has become so lii with 
that Fanny, I am almost afraid to trust him; however, 
he’s a useful beast, and I have been so long accus- 
tomed to him that I feel rather at a loss without him. 
I sent him off the other day in dudgeon, but I’ll go, 
and it will not be very difficult to make my peace 
with him;” and, so saying, although the night was 
already far spent, the Baronet sallied forth; mounting 
his cab, he soon found himself at Crockford’s, where 
he felt certain of encountering his faithful toady, and, 
instinctively directed his steps to the very spot where 
he knew Augustus would be revelling. There he 
was, in the smartest of waistcoats, his face redolent 
with the smiles created by the satisfaction, which the 
sight of the well-plenished tables afforded him. 

He had already eaten a most copious supper, but 
could not prevail upon himself to take a final leave of 
all the good things, and was amusing himself by 
snatching a few farewell pickings. He was just in 
the act of putting the last plover’s egg that remained 
in the dish into his mouth, when he received the 
well-known, but unexpected slap on the back from 
Sir Francis. 

It almost ejected the egg from his mouth, but too 
charmed was he to receive it, for, from his knowledge 
of his patron’s ways, he knew that it indicated, as 
plainly as words could have expressed, that he was 
in a good humour with him again, and Templeton, was- 
in an ecstasy of delight.. 


THE YOUNG TRIMA DONNA, 


55 : 


CHAPTER VIII. 

My recollection of many events concerned with my 
Rosalie’s history, and the order in which they occur- 
ed, has been materially aided by a diary, in which 
she noted down much of each passing day. It has 
since come into my possession, and has ever been to 
me a precious memento of her innate purity. It is 
the sweetest, most touching document ever placed in 
the hand of man ; and, when memory recalls the mo- 
ment that it was consigned into my keeping, tears of 
deep, heart-stirring regret, flow from the old eyes, 
whose fondest task it is, to trace lines, where a soul 
so pure, so beautiful, has spoken. 

It is one of my earliest lessons, the necessity of re- 
cording something of each succeeding day; and I al- 
ways endeavoured to make her consider, that the 
twenty-four hours, as they elapsed, were a deposit — a 
sacred trust from the hands of the Almighty, not to 
be passed without comment, or to be suffered merely 
to rest like a vision on the mind. 

The poet moralist tells us we “ take no note of time 
but from its loss.” But it should not be thus — the 
fleeting hours — the actual moment of existence should 
be marked — and the question asked — is this moment 
— this hour spent according to the dictates of our con- 
science? It is a trying question — it is one almost cer- 
tain of meeting with the neglect observed towards too 
many of our duties. To obviate this omission — to 
supply the monitor which a mispent hour, a wasted 
day calls for, the daily memoranda are excellent and 
effective. They stand like land marks in our past 
pilgrimage, and warn us of the stumblings and the 
wanderings, which may attend us in our onward 
course. Poor Rosalie! How arduously did she en- 


56 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


deavour to fulfil the lessons of her youth, and how 
touchingly is my name mentioned, my pardon, as it 
were invoked, when those intervals have occurred, 
during the course of her short and troubled life, which 
she felt as a slight to the instructions of her fond and 
anxious mentor. 

One of these breaks in her journal occurs imme- 
diately after her first meeting with Lord Fitz-Ernest 
at Belmont House. After the lapse of a week she 
thus recommences : 

Saturday, May 3d. “Eight days, and no note made 
of one thought — one act, one word, heard and ap- 
proved ! -Alas! alas! what can I write? There is 
but one thought burning at my heart, one word ; one 
name, alone echoes in my ear; Fitz-Ernest! and there 
is guilt in that thought; it must be torn from my 
heart, as an unholy thing. He to whom my young 
affections clung; to whom my every childish hope; my 
more matured aspirations turned; he, the good; the 
just; the beautiful, must be avoided; turned coldly 
from ; forgotten. Forgotten ! never, never, the plague 
spot is here ; here will it be open when the chill of 
death creeps over the bosom it destroys.” 

This passage was crossed thickly over, as if to 
erase the written evidence of the love which con- 
sumed her. And then, after some days’ cessation, 
her journal thus again continues: 

“To you, my more than father, I would offer some 
palliation of feelings which, although they cannot be 
justified under present circumstances, surely admit of 
extenuation. It is my hope, that until the last hour 
of this sad and wearisome life they may be kept se- 
cret; and that in ignorance of the blighted affection 
which hurries me to an early grave, you will merely 
attribute to the many trials of my troubled existence, 
the death which even now seems too tardy to my weary 
hearty But then you will know all — nor do I wish it 
otherwise ; even now, I would address you on the sub- 
ject, did I not fear to pain the benevolent heart which 
watches so narrowly over all that concerns my happi? 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


57 


ness. However, these lines will one day meet your 
eyes ; you will then learn that your grateful Rosalie 
has had but one concealment from her friend ; a con- 
cealment that was meant rather to soften the asperity 
of your regret, than to hide her fault. From unto- 
ward circumstances, the affections of my nature were 
all limited; but strengthened by that limitation; you, 
dear Mr. Leslie first taught my young heart to throb 
with that best joy ; the love of one’s fellow creatures. 
From you, 1 learnt to love many others; but oh ! 
none so dearly as one, whose character, even in those 
young days, seemed to realize all my ideas of fabled 
and imaginary perfection. What a tender worship 
rises from the youthful soul towards those whose 
kindness calls forth its affections; whose excellence 
commands its esteem ! It was thus even as a child; 
a once forgotten and neglected child, I learnt to idolize 
Fitz-Ernest. ' 

“ It was strange, that even at this period, when my 
love for you, dea^ Mr. Leslie; and for all the Bel- 
mont family, formed the one unvarying theme of all 
the babblings of my happy heart, the sentiments in- 
spired by that noble; that surpassing being, should be 
kept unrevealed in my bosom, felt, unspoken of, 
known, but scarcely thought upon, without timidity, 
and a sensation of awe, and shrinking. You, my 
friend, dropped the seeds of taste, and refinement into 
my mind; both taught me to love Fitz-Ernest; you 
gave me acute perceptions — enlightened aspirations ; 
the result was the better understanding of all his ex- 
cellence. Such was the early stage of this fair 
dream of love; it became modulated, but unchanged, 
by passing events. And when torn from all I loved, 
enduring the rude intercourse of professional life — the 
rough reproof of vulgar tyranny — the insolence of 
authorized profligacy — then, even then, this senti- 
ment, perhaps it may be called, this passion, was to 
me the loadstone of hope, the panoply which shielded 
my heart, from feeling as bitterly as I should have 
otherwise done, the accumulated evils surrounding 


58 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


me. It bore my soul above the misfortune which, but 
for that, must have been insupportable. But think 
not that it was by happiness the shafts of misery 
were blunted. It was not so, living as it were, in 
another sphere, withdrawing in thought from the cir- 
cle where I was only the speculation of avarice, not 
an object of affection, desolate and unconnected, I 
existed but for a sentiment which was even then con- 
suming me ; and flying back in memory, to pass days 
of happiness, I experienced with every possible ag- 
gravation, that of yvhich Dante so eloquently speaks, 

‘ nessun maggior dolore 

) Che ricordarsi del tempo felice 
\ Nella miseria.’ 

“ Alas ! for the poor ill-fated Rosalie ! There was 
still greater misery, in store. I came to England, all 
the enthusiastic picturings pf a fond, an ardent heart 
were realized. Fitz-Ernest was worthy the idolatry 
which made every feeling of my soul his own. And — 
and oh ! merciful power which teaches us to bear 
without repining the ills of earth and mortality, for- 
give the despair which has given the last wound to 
my tortured heart — I jjave seen her, seen the happy, 
the lovely one, whose sole duty henceforth is to love, 
to cherish him, whom only to see without self-re- 
proach would form a world of happiness ; now all Is 
closed. She is worthy of him ; he will love — adore 
her; they may, they must be happy. I pray for it, 
• I — ‘ oh death acceptable is thy sentence, to him whose 
strength fails him — to him that despaireth !’ 

“ Yes, yes, whether looked at, with the bright and 
fancy-tinged glance of enthusiastic and smiling hope, 
or with the calm blessed faith of the Christian, death 
must seem a friend who, amidst the anguish of earth- 
ly sufferings, hovers near to snatch us to its friendly 
bosom, when the pressure of life is no longer sup- 
portable, when existence becomes too heavy a burden 
for the wretch whose last faint hope has set in dark 
despair. 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA, 


59 


‘ Deatli is the crown of life : 

Were death denied, poor man would live in vain; 

Were death denied, to live, would not be life ; 

Were death denied, e’en fools would wish to die. 

Death wounds to cure, we fall, we rise, we reign ! 

Spring from our fetters, fasten in the skies, 

Where blooming Eden withers in our sight ; 

Death gives us more than was in Eden lost. 

This king of terror is the prince of peace. 

When shall I die to vanity, pain, death ? 

When shall I die? when shall Hive for ever ?”’ 

After this entry in her journal, there is again a ces- 
sation for some days; and it is then resumed with a 
calmness — a degree of rational reflection, which 
showed how great had been the struggle within. The 
events of each day were all noted down — all to whom 
she had spoken — all she had seen; the names of Fitz- 
Ernest, and his fiancee appearing amongst the rest. 
There was in her words, so much purity of heart, with 
the glow of imagination — so much sweetness and digni- 
ty of idea, with the one deep feeling which impercepti- 
bly to the poor hearf-strieken girl, peeped forth in many 
passages, that I now linger with a pleased, though poi- 
gnant sorrow, over these revealings of her gentle na- 
ture. £ ‘ Oh ! rose of-Mav — oh ! flower too soon faded !” 

Her beauty and external graces were at that time 
receiving the most fervent homage, from a crowded 
and refined metropolis — and even then there were 
lines expressing such winning modesty — such an hum- 
ble opinion of her own merits — such indifference to 
the suffrage of admiring crowds, with so deep a sen- 
sibility to the affection of the Belmont family; that I 
marvel at the thousand perfections of this young crea- 
ture, who combined in her own person, all the ma- 
tured talents of an Armida — a Corinna, with the 
simplicity — the single-heartedness — the purity of a 
Pamela. 

There was one thing peculiar in the journal of Ro- 
salie; the evident interest taken in Lady Constance 
Delaval, and that too while her own feelings, for her 
affianced husband, were sinking her very soul in 


60 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


sadness and despair. She elaborately dwelt on every 
virtue — every charm of the noble lady. Every dis- 
position of her nature, which the loving tact of Ro- 
salie taught her was of a kind to be grateful to the 
heart of Fitz-Ernest, was hailed with a pensive glad- 
ness. And there were words which, while they be- 
trayed her own consciousness of the power she might 
herself possess, had fate placed her in the same grade 
of society with the young Lord, of forming and en- 
suring his every earthly happiness — showed also that 
she had made a virtual resignation of every hope — a 
high-minded resolve of burying, in the very depths of 
her aching heart, a feeling which the instinct of love 
told her, need only be unveiled to call forth the mani- 
festations of the most fervent attachment from Fitz- 
Ernest. But the journal of Rosalie was not wanting 
to convince me of the personal virtue — the intellec- 
tual purity, with which she shrank from all that might 
fan that devouring flame, which seemed on the point 
of bursting forth, in devastating ardour, from the 
bosom of Fitz-Ernest. Before its pages met my 
eyes, her every action convinced me, that she left no 
means untried to lead his fealty back to the gentle 
being from whom it seemed but too disposed to 
wander, — to check the least evidence of sensibili- 
ty or emotion which she herself might have called 
forth. 

Even her affection for the little Algernon — his own 
pet brother, was dissembled in his presence. Her dis- 
taste for the life of publicity and— as she conceived — 
degradation that she was leading, was never touched 
upon. Before Fitz-Ernest, she spoke of it as a thing 
of course, that one in lowly circumstances should la- 
bour for her bread ; and when any eulogium was ut- 
tered — any compliment passed on the enchantments 
her perfect acting — her syren voice threw over the 
minds of her auditors, she would faintly smile, saying 
— were all as well acquainted as she was with the 
tricks of the Italian Conservatoire , they would learn, 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


61 


that, what appeared genius was purely study, and as 
it were mechanical. 

Rosalie was, in this instance, insincere; and for the 
laudable purpose of depreciating talents, which she 
felt placed her, in too seductive a light both to Fitz- 
Ernest and the impetuous Henry, did flagrant injus- 
tice to her surpassing and native genius. My firm 
belief will ever be, that the extraordinary powers of 
harmony, with which she was gifted, were by no 
means unknown or unappreciated by her, and that 
had she been placed in a different sphere of life, her 
vocal talent would have been to her, one affording 
most exquisite and unalloyed delight. 

Brought by this talent into scenes and society, from 
which her whole being shrank, it might have been 
thought, that the exercise of so fatal a power was re- 
pugnant to her feelings. But it was not thus. There 
was in her nature — what one could almost fancy le 
besoin de chanter, and from that gush of melody from 
her youthful lips, which first drew my attention to her 
at the white cottage, to those exquisite torrents of 
execution and pathos, which used to thrill to the very 
soul all that dense crowd, which the lovely cantatrice 
drew nightly to the Opera, I have always observed 
there was an expression of enjoyment — of seraphic 
contentment in her countenance, which told that her 
poor bruised heart, at least in this gift of her exqui- 
site talent, had gratification and delight. 

At private concerts, her beautiful and eloquent 
features were always more marked with this irradia- 
tion, than when she sang on the Opera stage. The 
contact with mockery, and scenic effects, grated 
harshly on the fine simplicity of her feelings; but in the 
concert-room, surrounded only by seleet society, 
meeting the urbanity, with which talent is usually 
cherished, in this country, her heart, as it were, ex- 
panded, and she forgot for the moment, that she was 
the hired amusement of the evening; forgot that the 
brilliant scene, in which she moved, was in a few 
short hours to be succeeded by the discomforts of a 

VOL. ii. — 6 


62 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


home, where profligacy, vulgarity, and tyranny, com- 
bined to wound the gentle bosom, whose onJy refuge 
there, was in the apartment of her suffering mother. 

At the concert at St. James’s, perhaps, Rosalie 
tasted more the pleasure offered by a brilliant, and au- 
gust assembly, the interchange of kind words with 
kind friends, the approbation her splendid powers 
called forth, than she had ever done before. Her no- 
tice of this evening in her Diary confirms this idea; 
and in the gleam of light-heartedness which her de- 
scription betrays; and her mention of Sir Francis 
Somerville ! 

“ In spite of the half warning, half injunction of 
my dear Mr. Leslie, on the subject of Sir Francis 
Somerville, I am still sensible of an infant prejudice 
in his favour. It marked the first period of our ac- 
quaintance, and would surely ripen into maturity, did 
I not momentarily dread the betrayal of some failing, 
some error which must exist; or surely one so just, 
so charitable, as my kind friend would not have 
spoken of him harshly, and with strict, though vague 
censure. He may have failings; who has not? but f 
must believe they are of that description, which 
should meet with indulgence ; because they can nei- 
ther originate in narrow principles, or an ungenerous 
mind. 

“ Early initiated into some of the pleasures of re- 
fined and elegant intercourse, I am vain enough to 
believe that it has taught me to distinguish the Intel- 
ligent, the high-minded, from amidst the ignorance, 
the vapidity, the self-sufficiency of those mechanical 
beings, who form, I am induced to believe, the majo- 
rity of society. 

“ This power of discrimination is not wholly a gift 
to be prized. It divests half those I meet, of the at- 
tractive gloss they bear in society, and detects too 
frequently the pebble, where one would hope to find the 
diamond. But it is not thus with Sir Francis Somer- 
ville. Interesting without the affectation of sentiment, 
instructive in matters of science and virtu , without 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


63 


th® ostentatious display of superior acquirement, frank 
and lively in his manners, without the roughness 
which would repulse, the levity which might bid one 
shrink ; he unites in his person the charm of high- 
breeding, with warmth and apparent kindness of 

“ Mr. Leslie surely must have looked with an eye 
of prejudice on one so formed to claim his suffrage; 
I must talk with this dear kind friend, whose affec- 
tions make him suspicious of all who approach me. 
And yet, after all, am I certain the pleasure I feel in 
his society and attention, does not proceed from his 
consanguinity with one, whom he resembles, but to 
whom he is still as far inferior in radience and at- 
traction, as the halo of the moon it surrounds! 

“ Ah! yes it may be so. It is not the amiable en- 
lightened man I see, but the cousin of Fitz-Ernest. 
How near to him in kindred ! how like in tone of 
voice, in figure ! 

“ How completely too he appreciates all the ex- 
cellence, all the superiority of the Belmont family ; 
and since he has found that I can enter into the feel- 
ings of affection which appears to influence him, how 
eloquently he discusses all the different merits and at- 
tractions, of each member of that dear circle. This too 
with a warmth, an animation which though I can 
scarcely be ignorant that the subject is chosen in a 
measure from the desir de plaire which actuates the 
man of the wrnrld, still shows his heart participates in 
the warmth of his expression.” 

Poor, poor Rosalie ! while thus pourtraying with 
naivete her detection of the refined coquetry of the 
Baronet, which enabled him thus to discover the one 
deep interest of her heart, and to make it a means of 
attraction, how 7 completely does she betray, the se- 
ductive powers of a being, who, Proteus-like, could 
assume any form to gain his purpose. I think these 
are the last lines in which any thing of satisfaction, 
unconnected with the idea of death, appears in the 
Diary of Rosalie. And in their calmness, the sang - 


64 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


froid with which she relates the particulars of that 
evening, the notice of the Queen, the public conde- 
scension of the Belmont family, how different is it to 
that burst of eloquence, with which she describes the 
transport of her feelings, on recognising Fitz-Ernest 
the night of her first appearance at the Opera. 

Poor tender Rosalie! I will not betray those out- 
pourings of thine ardent heart ; but on learning from 
them how fervent the love, the devotion which de- 
stroyed thee, may we not dwell with admiration on 
that forbearance, I may say, that magnanimity, which 
bade thee bury in thy breast a secret, whose discovery 
might have acted so fatally for the happiness of those 
dear to thee! She thus concludes the passage in her 
journal. 


“ Thus it is true from the sad years of life 
We sometimes do short hours — yea minutes strike. 
Keen, blissful, bright, never to be forgotten; 

Which through the dreary gloom of time o’erpast 
Shine like fair sunny spots on a wild waste. 

But few they are.”— 


A passage in this interesting Diary instructed me of 
a circumstance, of which I had before been ignorant, 
and that was the preliminaries of an engagement 
for Rosalie, with the manager of the Italian Opera at 
Paris. 

It seems, she resisted this at first; her very soul 
sickening at the idea of leading her present life of 
trial and publicity, in a corrupt and depraved city, un- 
sustained by one of the circumstances, which alone 
made her present griefs supportable. It interfered too 
with one of her most secret, yet ardently desired 
plans, for the future. 

It appeared that her mind was directed to, and 
rested on the strange hope of dying at Fairbourne. 
She believed she had strength to sustain her present 
engagement, and buoyed herself up with the vain ex- 
pectation, that Gabrielli would content himself with 
her London season, and suffer her to rest in retirement 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


65 


until the period of her resuming her place on the Opera 
stage: she dwelt fondly on the idea of some months* 
quiet, and then sinking into her grave beneath the old 
yew tree, before she was again called to the hateful 
metier, which the avaricious craving of her tyrant fa- 
ther-in-law, had chalked out for her. 

Seeing her agonizing apprehensions n f an engage- 
ment with the Parisian Directeur, I could gather from 
her words, that Gabrielli had rather waived the mat- 
ter, Jearing the results of agitation, on a frame evi- 
dently becoming more fragile each succeeding week. 

This temporizing had rather soothed the chafed 
spirit of the unhappy girl; but still there was a deeper 
tone of despondency, visible in the succeeding pages 
of her journal. 

The incident had shown her that a protracted life 
could produce no joy— no amelioration of her sad 
condition. Like the wretched galerian, she was linked 
by galling chains to the labour from which her heart re- 
volted. There was no one ray of hope, to brighten 
the dreary perspective before her; can we wonder then, 
that like the poor captive at the oar, she looked to 
death alone, as the blessed power which should eman-- 
cipate her. 

But even here, there was disquietude. Taught by 
her own pure reason — by holy lessons of former days, 
to feel that death was not alone to be looked to as the 
liberator from earthly misery; nor to be met with a 
heart clinging to earthly objects, beating with the fer- 
vour of earthly feelings; she was aware there was still 
much left for her to do, ere she could experience within 
her, the purified spirit which conld alone render her 
meet for the blessed rest she sought. How exquisitely 
her plaints are poured forth in the lines I transcribe. 
Who can read, and not weep with the fainting heart 
whlfch dictated them? — 

" Hear, Father ! hear and aid ! 

If I have loved too well — if I have shed, 

In my vain fondness, o’er a mortal head, 

Gifts, on thy shrine, my God, more fitly laid 

6 * 


66 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


If I have sought to live, 

But in one light, and made a mortal eye 
The lonely star of my idolatry, 

Thou, that art love ! oh ! pity, and forgive me ! 

Chasten’d, and schooled, at last, 

No more, no more, my struggling spirit burns, 

But, fixed on Thee, from that vain worship turns. 

What have I said ? — the deep dream is not past ; 

Yet, hear ! — if still I love, 

Oh ! still too fondly — if, for ever seen, 

An earthly image comes my soul between 
And thy calm glory ! Father ! throned above ; 

If still a voice is near; 

(Even while I strive these wanderings to control,) 

An earthly voice, disquieting my soul 
With its deep music, too intensely dear; 

Oh, Father ! draw to Thee 
My lost affections back ! The dreaming eyes 
Clear from their mist; sustain the heart that dies ; 

Give the worn soul, once more, its pinions free I 
I must love on ! — Oh, God ! 

This bosom must love on ! but, let thy breath, 

Touch, and make pure, the flame that knows not death; 

Bearing it up to heaven, love’s own abode !” 

Thus spoke — thus prayed my poor suffering child 
but I fear the feeling which she besought might be 
banished from her bosom, caused the last sigh — the 
last flutter of the warm, affectionate heart of Rosalie. 

To borrow the eloquent expressions of a talented 
poetess, when thinking of Fitz-Ernest and the beauts 
ful cantatrice, how truly can I say — 

“ Man 

Love’s on, till hope be dead, then love dies too;. 

’Tis only woman lays her silly heart 
In hope’s cold urn, and, in that funeral nest, / 

Broods o’er her love.” 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


67 


CHAPTER IX. 

This was a very anxious period of my existence. 
I never awoke in the morning, without a sensation of 
weight and discomfort upon my spirits. Through all 
the course of my long life, I had lived so entirely for 
others — human nature had been to me such a com- 
plete study — that I had learned to read, in a very pecu- 
liar manner, what was passing in the minds of others. 

To a casual observer, every thing might have ap- 
peared to be going on prosperously at that present mo- 
ment. My especial care and protegee , was pursuing a 
career of uninterrupted, and almost unprecedented 
success. 

Nothing could exceed the sensation she created ; it 
amounted to a complete furor, and many may well re- 
member the intensity of interest her brief and brilliant 
appearance excited. The notice, so liberally bestowed 
upon her by Majesty itself, not a little exalted her in 
the eyes of the admiring world; but all must have 
been unanimous in allowing, that her own merits re- 
quired no other aid, to enhance her perfections ; and, 
perhaps, none that she possessed was more attractive, 
than that innate modesty of deportment which cast, 
as it were, a veil over her, and appeared to chasten, 
although it concealed not any of her loveliness. 

Even in these days of her triumph, I often looked 
at her with uncertain pleasure. “ Is not this all. too 
bright to last?” I thought, as I saw her now, in so al- 
tered a mood. She was very different from what she 
had been; then she was ever sad, dejected, but gen- 
tleness itself. 

It seemed to mo unnatural, the sort of wild gaiety 


68 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


and excitability, which she evinced in her present state 
of spiri ?. She appeared as if she were always en- 
deavouring to wind herself up. The glance of her 
eye was bright, but restless, and her cheeks were al- 
most always flushed ; I observed too that she was 
thinner than ever, and coughed frequently. 

Poor Rosalie ! Could her inmost thoughts, at this 
period, have been fathomed, one might have found, 
that in the midst of he smiling scenes before her, there 
was one small spo of desolation, on which her eye 
continually rested ; and which turned all the rest of 
the cheerful landscape to gloom. 

The struggles she made — the energy with which 
she combated the sole absorbing feeling of her heart, 
which she so long had nurtured and cherished, as her 
only treasure, was, indeed, a noble and most beautiful 
proof of her strict sense of what was right. 

But there are some frames not calculated by nature 
to endure, without injury, such violent efforts. By 
thus struggling, although her mind was unconquered, 
her vital energies were undermined. 

Her strong principle — her sense of what was due 
to herself and to her noble friends — made her feel that 
she would rather die, than allow one vestige of a sen- 
timent to remain, which her reason pointed out, as 
not only hopeless^ but also partook of guiltiness to en- 
courage. 

This victory over herself was, indeed, dearly 
bought; her heart, alone, knew the torture she did 
not spare to inflict; and, with her own hands, fain 
would she have torn out the shaft that had so deep- 
ly wounded her, although, by this act, she knew that 
it would leave that heart desolate, bleeding, almost 
lifeless. 

But Rosalie was not the only-one, in whom I could 
read a tale of inward suffering : indeed, it appeared to 
me, that there were many of my young friends who 
were under the influence of depression of spirits, though 
each endeavoured to act a part, in order to conceal it.. 
But their smiles were like the deceitful gleams of ra- 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


69 


diance, which are oftimes the precursors of a storm 
— a dazzling flash of brightness, soon to be obscured 
by tears. 

I saw that Fitz-Ernest evidently endeavoured to 
avoid meeting Rosalie at Belmont House ; at this I 
should have much rejoiced, and was about to give 
my young friend, in my own mind, the highest 
praise for this self-denying conduct; but, I disco- 
vered, to my sorrow, that he took every other op- 
portunity of, at least, satiating his eyes, by gazing 
upon her. 

He never missed an Opera ; and I found that no re- 
hearsal took place without his being there. He fan- 
cied that his presence was unobserved ; and the secre- 
cy with which his actions were conducted, convinced 
me more than ever of the great foundation I had for 
my fears. 

Deeply did I feel for the conflict which I knew was 
raging in his mind; and, gladly, would I have had 
him relieve his overcharged feelings, by confiding to 
me his perplexities. Then, I would have advised — 
would have besought him to fly from the present 
danger — to endeavour, by absence from the fasci- 
nating influence which now enthralled his better rea- 
son, to seek for that peace which his present course 
was destroying. 

“ But it was not so to be. I dared not intrude my 
advice at that moment. I saw that it was not the 
time to interfere. How true it is, that when the disor- 
ders of the mind arrive at their height, they are, of 
all miseries, the most difficult to endure ! 

Fitz-Ernest knew too well that his conduct was 
weak — inconsistent, to use the mildest terms in de- 
signating it ; but he had not the energy to cast off the 
darling passion; he rather pressed it to his heart ; he 
yielded to the impulse, merely because he would not re- 
sist it. Reason remonstrated — conscience endeavoured 
to check him, but all in vain. 

Many a time have I seen him, when he fancied 
himself unperceived, looking upon our unconscious 


70 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


heroine, with such profound love and admiration, that 
whilst at the same time, I condemned — I pitied him ; 
for there was so despairing an expression in his coun- 
tenance, that it made my heart sink within me, and I 
was dreadfully puzzled how to act. 

Ought I not at once to acquaint Lord and Lady 
Belmont with my fears? I temporized the matter. 
Perhaps this was blameable, but I felt it would be such 
a complete annihilation to all Rosalie’s present com- 
fort, that I could not bring myself to do what I 
knew would destroy the apparent calm that she was 
enjoying. 

And Lady Constance — 1 could not fail to be anx- 
ious on her account. I thought she looked pale and 
ill ; but I heard nothing to give me any idea that the 
marriage was not still en train. Her conduct was 
very delightful towards Rosalie. It was evident that 
she, in common with others, was much attracted by 
her, and the notice she bestowed upon her, appeared 
to me extraordinary, and magnanimous, as well as the 
attention and kindness she evinced in every way. 
Why was all this? — It is difficult to fathom the myste- 
ry of a woman’s heart. 

I have seen her, with her eyes fixed upon her beau- 
tiful rival, with an expression which went to my heart; 
it said as plainly as words could have done, “ No 
wonder he admires her, and sees at once her great su- 
periority to myself.” 

But this feeling did not seem to produce in her the 
effect it might have had on others. There was none 
of the wormwood of jealousy mingled, only gentle 
sorrow, which exhibited itself in the tearful eye, and 
the mournful cast of her countenance. 

But there was a charm in her gentleness, and in 
the noble conduct she pursued, which wrought much 
more beneficial effects to herself and others, than had 
she given way to impatience, or what might have al- 
most been deemed natural under her circumstances — 
evinced dislike, and unwillingness, to cultivate the ac- 
quaintance of Rosalie. 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


71 


It created a feeling in Rosalie’s heart which almost 
amounted to enthusiasm. Her own exalted mind at 
once was enlisted warmly and devotedly, to this kin- 
dred soul of excellence; her gratitude became ex- 
treme, her admiration unbounded ; and these senti- 
ments soothed and consoled her, and gave a bias to 
her ideas, which was most healthy and supporting. 

She had now a motive for relinquishing her che- 
rished feeling, and when she remembered in whose fa- 
vour she resigned it, she hoped, and fervently prayed, 
that she might in time, tutor her heart to beat with 
calmer emotions. For would there not be happiness 
in store for him? and for herself — such an idea as hap- 
piness had never entered into her calculation. 

Should she live to see Fitz-Ernest united to Con- 
stance, then would every thing for her in this world 
be ended. Her presumptuous thoughts, her hopes, 
her fears, must then be hushed- for ever, and her next 
idea was, that it might please Heaven that she should 
die. 

Indeed, in this last feeling she had long indulged. 
The hope of an early death seemed to bound her every 
view for the future, and by continually dwelling on 
the theme, her mind did become heavenly, much more 
fit for that world of purity, than this mortal chequered 
state. 

It always appeared to me, that she walked through 
this world without belonging to it. She was like no 
other being I ever met. ’Tis not my exaggerating 
love that thus surrounds my sweet heroine with so 
many perfections. There are many who saw her, 
who will support me in all that I say, and will con- 
fess that the picture is not overdrawn; and even those 
who did not know her intimately, must dwell upon 
the remembrance of the fair girl with a degree of 
mournful admiration. Her appearance in the world 
might be likened to that of a brilliant meteor, too 
dazzling, too beautiful to last. 


72 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


CHAPTER X. 

I must retrace my steps, and return to the day 
which followed Rosalie’s gratifying success, at the 
concert given by their Majesties. 

I had heard all the agreeable details from Lord Henry, 
who paid me an early visit, and when I shortly after- 
wards repaired to Rosalie’s abode, I expected, and 
hoped, to find her in excellent spirits ; but to my dis- 
appointment, I saw that she had been weeping. 

Grieved and alarmed, I questioned her as to the 
cause of her dejection, and she told me that her pre- 
sent discomfiture arose from the agitation, which a 
brief visit from Arturo had occasioned. 

She said she was busy writing, when she heard the 
door slowly open, and some one enter. She lifted 
up her eyes, and beheld the Italian. “And immedi- 
ately,” she added, “ a panic seized my whole frame, 
for as he approached, bis countenance shocked me 
inexpressibly. He held a bouquet as usual in his 
hand, and looked as pale as death ; but that was no- 
thing to the expression of his eyes. I cannot describe 
it,” and she shuddered as she spoke, and placed her 
hands before her face, as if to shut out the view of 
some dreadful object. “ Arturo,” I exclaimed, “ what 
ails you,” but he did not answer ; he stood silently 
looking at me for a moment, and then dashing the 
flowers upon the table, he rushed from the room. 
“ Dear Mr. Leslie,” she continued, “ I am terrified, 
when I think of that dark, dreadful glance ; and that 
one, who is really so good, so noble, should at the 
same time have such evil passions in his heart. I 
know well, at least, I much fear, from whence they 
spring, poor youth, and God knows, I deeply lament, 
I feel for him,” and she sighed deeply ; “ all this un- 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


73 


fortunately proceeds from the love he cherishes for 
me. But in what an extraordinary mariner it affects 
him ! To me it is past comprehension. How I 
trembled last night, when I caught an expression of 
his countenance, during the time I was speaking to 
Sir Francis Somerville. For Heaven’s sake, my 
dear Sir, suggest something that will calm his mind. 
Cannot you talk to him — endeavour to admonish 
him — to make him listen to reason.” 

“ My dear child,” I replied, “ 1 know not what line to 
pursue. Arturo shuns me, will not allow me an op- 
portunity of speaking to him. He appears almost to 
have taken a dislike to me.” 

However, I saw that Rosalie looked so annoyed — 
so unhappy, that I promised to seek him, and try 
whether I could produce any effect upon him. But 
my mind misgave me as to being of any use. 

His unfortunate love for Rosalie burnt, in his na- 
ture, with a fierce and unquenchable fire. All the 
softness which had mingled in his disposition seemed 
scorched and withered. Nothing appeared to be left 
but dark revenge, and torturing despair. 

I found that Rosalie was in no mood to talk upon 
any other subject. She said she could not feel happy, 
or reflect with pleasure upon any circumstance, 
whilst poor Arturo was so wretched; and she besought 
me to lose no time in going to him. 

I therefore, repaired to his lodgings, but after I 
had made my way to the top of the house, I found 
the door of his apartment locked. I knocked re- 
peatedly, but receiving no answer was about to de- 
part, mortified at the failure of my mission, when 
another door on the same landing-place opened, and a 
man approached me. 

I saw at once, by his appearance that he was an 
Italian, and in that language he politely addressed 
me, asking me if I was not seeking the Signor Vival-* 
di. I immediately guessed that he was the person, 
of whom I had heard Arturo speak in terms of friend- 
ship. 

YOL. II. — 7 


74 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


He was an elderly man, and I believe either a mu 
sician or actor at the Opera-house. He told me that 
Arturo was really not at home, and on my asking 
some questions concerning his health, he shook his 
head and answered, that in his opinion it was the 
mind that was diseased. 

On my continuing my inquiries, he courteously in- 
vited me into his little apartment, which seemed hard- 
ly large enough to admit much more than himself 
and his violoncello ; and after some trouble in moving 
music, from the only decent chair he had to offer, of 
which he insisted that I should take possession, he be- 
gan to talk upon the subject of his compatriote. 

There was a kindliness of manner, and bonhommie 
about this man, which immediately prepossessed me 
in his favour. I found that his name was Bruno. He 
had known Arturo from his earliest boyhood, and 
seemed to take the liveliest interest in his welfare. 

“ Oh Signor,” he said, “ 1 do not know what will 
become of that poor youth; every day I see him more 
and more dejected. I fear indeed, that the origin of his 
malady is hopeless — his absorbing love for that beauti- 
ful cantatrice. My heart bleeds for him. For the last 
two or three days his mood is strangely altered; he 
has been wild — ungovernable ; fierce passions seem to 
have taken possession of his breast. As for food, I 
believe he would never swallow any, did I not take 
care to provide him with some, and my entreaties to 
prevail upon him to take some nourishment — but it is 
a sad sight Signor, to watch the gradual decay of 
such a youth as Arturo; to see his fine energies de- 
serting him — his temper becoming fierce — his beauty 
perishing— every prospect blighted — destroyed; and 
without any hope— any power of being of use;” and 
here the good Italian looked powerfully affected. 

“ I have known him from a child,” he continued, 
“and his old uncle, who gave up his pittance to 
educate him, is now left desolate, by the object of all 
his hopes; for he has abandoned him to follow an 
ignis fatuus, which is luring him to destruction. Oh 
Signor, you English, calm — even in your tempera- 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


75 


ments, can faintly estimate the fiery nature of one 
born under the scorching influence of an Italian sky ! 
Ours are not the measured feelings which beat in your 
breasts. We are Italians, and feel as such 1 But 
hush,” he cried suddenly, interrupting himself in the 
midst of his vehement harangue, “ I hear Arturo’s 
step.” 

We both approached the door which Bruno half 
opened, and beheld him. He was unlocking his 
apartment, and his back was turned to us, therefore 
at first I did not see his countenance; but on his name 
being pronounced by Bruno, he suddenly turned his 
head, and not all that Rosalie had said, prepared me 
for the painful surprise which his looks occasioned. 
His bloodshot eyes — his sullen air — so unlike his usual 
expression ! 

I really was riveted to the spot, and did not ad- 
vance; and Arturo, without taking any farther notice 
of the Italian, immediately entered the room, and we 
heard him fastening the door inside. 

All this was very annoying and perplexing to me, 
and I was made still more anxious, by Bruno inform- 
ing me, that he had been out since four o’clock that 
morning, and that he was certain no nourishment 
had passed within his lips, during the whole of the 
day. 

“ See,” he said, pointing to a small table upon 
which stood some wine and other refreshments, “ I 
have remained here watching all the day, in order that 
I might make him partake of what I have provided; and 
now he has shut the door against me;” and the poor 
man looked sad and mortified. I went to the door 
and knocked, telling him that I was there, and re- 
questing him to admit me; but it was not until some 
time had elapsed, that at last, with seeming reluc- 
tance, he acceded to my demand ; and I entered, ac- 
companied by Bruno. Arturo turned from me with 
almost an expression of anger. I believe, had it not 
been for that habitual respect, with which he ever re- 


76 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


garded me, he would have scarcely scrupled to tell 
me to begone. 

But 1 heeded not his repulsive expression. “ Ar- 
turo,” I said immediately, “ 1 know that you have 
eaten nothing this day, therefore before I enter into 
any farther conversation with you, I do insist that you 
will, without delay, take what that kind friend has so 
thoughtfully provided for you;” and 1 fixed my eyes 
upon him with grave determination, which I perceived 
he had not the courage to resist. 

Bruno directly left the room, and returned with 
some bread and wine. After some little hesitation, - 
he was induced to partake of a portion of it, and 
much did he require support, for he appeared to be in 
a weak — exhausted state. Had it not been for the 
excitement of his mind, his frame must have sunk 
from want of natural nourishment. 

When I saw that he looked in a degree refreshed, T 
made a sign to Bruno to leave us, and then 1 ap- 
proached Arturo, who was still sitting moody and ab- 
stracted. 

Poor fellow ! my heart truly felt for him. Taking 
his hand in mine, I pressed it with kindness and sym- 
pathy, which I observed he at once appreciated. 

“ Arturo,” I said, “ I am come from Rosalie, who is 
miserable about you.” 

At the sound of this name, a sort of shudder shook 
his frame; but he spoke not. 

“Tell me in Heaven’s name what is the matter,” I 
continued, “ and let me endeavour to speak peace to 
your troubled soul.” 

I saw that a fierce struggle was taking place in his 
breast. The power of utterance was denied to him, 
but his cheek grew pale and red by turns. He ex- 
tricated his hand from mine — turned his head away; 
he positively heaved with emotion. 

Again I said, “Speak toyne Arturo, relieve your 
mind by confiding your miseries to me, your anxious 
friend. Fear me not, for I love you well, and though 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


77 


I am old, I have not outlived my sympathy for the 
sorrows of youth.” 

But at that moment, how impossible was it for him 
to answer. The struggling emotions of his heart 
were almost choking him; and although it was most 
affecting to behold, still it was a relief to me, when at 
length I saw him burst into a passionate flood of tears ; 
and as he wept, dear boy, with almost childish vio- 
lence, I thanked Heaven for the solace which these 
timely drops, I felt certain, would afford him; and al- 
though again I pressed his now unreluctant hand, I 
did not strive to check the current of his tears. I 
knew that they would soften the rigid nature of his 
present feelings, and that soon he would be able to 
sooth his mind, by pouring forth his griefs, to one he 
loved and trusted; and though miserable, he still had 
this privilege — with full confidence, to impart the 
secrets of his soul to a friend. 

I mentioned Rosalie’s name on purpose. I was 
certain it would be the only means of rousing him. 
What a theme for moralizing was the youth, as there 
he sat, drowned in tears. To see a man in all the 
strength of youth — of health — of power ! thus laid low 
by the overwhelming force of one passion ! Of what 
avail were all his .great — estimable qualities? He 
was now as a thing of nought — useless — enervated — 
no longer, even reasonable. To witness a noble mind 
thus shaken, is humiliating, as well as sad; a youth 
throwing away all the valuable opportunities he once 
enjoyed — so lost, oh 1 it was a grievous sight — but 
what was to be done? 

After a time, I again addressed him, “ Promise me, 
dear Arturo,” I said, “ that you will endeavour to 
calm the feelings which are now raging with such 
sinful violence in your heart ; enable me to console 
Rosalie, by telling her that you will not grieve her 
again — that you will be to her as you have ever yet 
been — her friend, her kind Arturo, on whom she has 
always leant for comfort, whose affection, I do assure 
you, she prizes dearly.” 


78 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


Arturo started up, and seizing both my hands, ex- 
claimed, “ Signor, as you hope for salvation, tell me 
is that true — does she really care for me 1” 

« She does, Arturo, and your unkindness this morn- 
ing has hurt her much. From what cause did it pro- 
ceed V* 

v I wished to probe his wound, to make him speak 
out, knowing it would be the only way to serve him 
effectually. 

Arturo’s eye again kindled, and the colour mounted 
to his cheek. 

“ You ask me why I am miserable? — miserable is 
not the word to express what I feel. Misery is sad 
and quiet — not raging — furious like the agony that 
tortures me. Signor,” he said, and he lowered his 
voice and came close to me, “ did you ever love per- 
fection, did your very soul ever idolize a being such 
as her you have named, and was it ever your wretch- 
ed fate, to know that such love was hopeless, totally 
hopeless; that the idol upon whom you would gladly 
lavish every emotion of the warmest of hearts, enter- 
tained no other feeling for you save that of cold in- 
difference ; and not only that,” he continued, “but 
worse, far worse,” and his voice became louder and 
his gestures most emphatic. Was it ever your 
wretched destiny, to behold the beloved of your soul, 
looked upon by a detested rival, a profligate libertine? 
Too well I know and understand his designs. H'e is 
as base as she is pure, and yet I have seen her smile 
upon him — listen to his words of insidious poison. 
But his plans shall not prosper, whilst this hand can 
guide a dagger. Yes, Signor, an Italian knows how 
to strike.” 

The expression of Arturo’s countenance, at this 
moment, was indeed terrific. 

“ Arturo,” 1 said sternly, “ this is very, very dread- 
ful; you almost tempt me to leave you to your fate. 
Why should I waste my sympathy on one so lost. 
Were it not for Rosalie’s anxiety for you, I would* 
this instant depart. Do you think she is not perfect- 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


79 


ly aware of the characters of those who surround 
her ! In society she must meet with admiration. 
Her talents, her beauty and her exposed situation, 
render her open to it; but she is firm in discretion and 
virtue.” 

Arturo still wildly shook his head, and the fierce- 
ness of his countenance remained unchanged. . 

“ If you cease to be kind to her,” I continued, “ to 
regard her with that friendship which believe me, she 
has deeply prized, she will feel that there is one be- 
ing less to whom she can look for consolation under 
her various trials.” 

I saw that his features softened and relaxed from 
their distorted look of anger, and he said in a falter- 
ing tone of voice, “ Miserable — worthless as I am, can 
I for a moment hope to be regarded in any such light 
by her ?” 

“ Arturo, I again positively assure you, that she 
does truly value your friendship; and to convince her 
that you are really anxious to please her, return with 
me to her presence, for she told me she should have 
no peace of rnind until she had looked upon you in a 
very altered mood. Believe me she loves you with 
all the affection of a tender sisler.” 

“ Ah?” he exclaimed, and the wild expression re- 
turned to his eyes, “ a sister’s love will not satisfy 
me ; it is like throwing one drop of cold water upon 
a heated iron.” 

But I continued to persuade him, for I saw that his 
mood was calmed, and after some little delay, I had 
the satisfaction of finding myself, with my impetuous 
young friend by my side, en route for the abode of 
Rosalie.. 


8 0 THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


CHAPTER XI. 

The Belmont family were suffering considerable 
anxiety. The little boy, Algernon, had been attacked 
by an infantine fever, which prostrated his feeble 
frame to the extremity of weakness. 

Trouble had not been a frequent guest amongst 
these my deservedly prosperous friends, and it dis- 
tressed me to see their clouded countenances. How 
impossible it is, that perpetual brightness can remain 
in any quarter without some dark cloud occasionally 
overcasting it! 

When I visited Lady Belmont in her boudoir, 
where, with the privilege of an old friend, I was al- 
ways admitted, I found her very low and dejected. 
Anxiety Jor her darling child was her paramount 
grievance; but she told me she had other causes for 
uneasiness, which, perhaps, struck her more forcibly 
at this moment, nervously excited as she felt, from 
want of rest, caused by several nights’ watching, at 
the bedside of the invalid. 

She said that Fitz-Ernest made her very anxious. 
She thought he was looking extremely ill, and so to- 
tally unlike himself. 

“ You know, my dear Sir,” the Marchioness con- 
tinued, “ that it has been for some time fixed that his 
marriage should take place at the end of July. Every 
thing is arranged; but only yesterday he hinted to 
me, his wish that the ceremony might be deferred. 
This has perplexed and annoyed me extremely, for 
how can I make such a proposal to Lady Constance, 
and her father. You who have ever been so much in 
his confidence, and whose opinion he values so highly, 
cannot you assist me in deterring him from this ex- 
traordinary plan? He proposes going abroad till next 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


81 


spring. What can be the motive for such a wild pro- 
ject?” 1 told her Ladyship how gladly I would assist 
her, were it in my power, but feeling that 1 knew too 
well the cause of this perplexity, I was very hopeless 
of being able to effect any improvement, in the pre- 
sent state of affairs. 

It appeared to me that there was a gloom pervading 
every part of Belmont House, and amidst these scenes 
of magnificence and smiling attributes of joy and hap- 
piness, there was still food for moralizing upon the 
uncertain felicity, which even the abundance of world- 
ly prosperity ensures. 

Though the burden is not equally laid on all, where 
is the individual upon whom the cares of this world 
will not at some time press? Unexpected disappoint- 
ments crush the hopes and blast the plans of the most 
prosperous. The world, perhaps, has smiled upon 
them hitherto, only to give a sharper feeling of an- 
guish when untoward events shall occur. Could we 
look into the bosoms of persons, apparently the most 
highly favoured, even there we might find axious fears 
— tormenting suspicions, which level their envied state 
with that of others. Some secret grief which either 
they dare not disclose, or which if disclosed, would 
admit of no relief. In short, amidst that great com- 
pany of pilgrims who are journeying through life, 
how few are there who, during that journey, do 
not meet with many a valley of tears; and sad it is, 
but too true, that there are those to whom that 
valley is only cheered by transient glimpses of hap- 
piness. 

I found Lady Gertrude with a countenance unlike 
her own smiling happy face. She also seemed full of 
care, and I soon elicited from her the cause. 

Filz-Ernest’s present manner and deportment was 
grieving her much. She was always confidential 
with me, and I led her to speak openly on the subject, 
as I really wished to put myself into possession of the 
real state in which these perplexing matters stood, 
that I might know what line to take, for it was time 


82 


THE YOUNG PRIM A DONNA. 


to act in a decisive manner. I was terrified at the 
idea of what might be the result of all this ; particu- 
larly as I knew that Rosalie was so deeply implicated 
in this annoyance. 

On my pressing the subject, Lady Gertrude told me 
that Lady Constance was extremely unhappy. Fitz- 
Ernest had evidently shunned her society, and so per- 
suaded was she, that he ceased to desire the union, 
that she was exerting all her fortitude to come to the 
determination of making the last struggle, which was 
to release him from his engagement. 

“ It would have been done long ere this, I am cer- 
tain,” she continued, " had my earnest persuasions not 
withheld her; but her wounded pride will not long 
brook this cold neglect; and what distresses me and 
adds much to the annoyance, is, that poor Constance 
is perfectly certain that my brother’s altered manner 
towards her arises from his admiration of another; 
sr.d oh! Mr. Leslie!” she exclaimed, “ how it would 
shock you, if you knew who that other is ; the very 
thought to me is agony, for I feel torn between two 
friendships. I should not have courage to estrange 
myself from Rosalie,” and here she stopped and looked 
inquiringly in my face, -but I motioned her to proceed, 
and she continued, “ I am sorry to say that even I, 
who so long have shut my eyes to an idea so fraught 
with evil, am now obliged to confess, though with re- 
luctance, that Fitz-Ernest is fascinated by her in a 
manner fatal to the peace of Constance.” 

I knew not what to say; I felt it was all but too 
true. Lady Gertrude eagerly pursued the subject. 
“ Not the slightest blame can attach itself to Rosalie, 
her conduct is beautiful; Constance, who is justice it- 
self, allows it to be so. When she does meet my bro- 
ther here, she behaves to him just as she ought to do 
— her manner is faultless. I know not how to act — . 
how to be consistent — how to be just. But,” she added, 
looking almost indignant, as a flush passed over her 
features, “ I cannot help feeling very angry with Fitz- 
Ernest. He has disappointed me by thus lower- 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


83 


ing himself; for is he not breaking faith with one who 
is suited to him in every way — by birthright — by 
every excellence that should adorn his wife; what can 
be his views — his ideas, whilst acting such a faulty 
part? is it not most cruel towards his affianced bride, 
and the unfortunate girl, whom he so injures by his 
infatuation? 

Deeply did I sigh, for how true was every word 
she uttered 1 

“ Should my father and mother suspect the nature 
of the case, how sad it would be for Rosalie. How 
could we expect that they would continue their coun- 
tenance to one, who, however unintentionally, had 
been the means of destroying their dearest and near- 
est hopes. Generous and kind, as they are, for the 
honour and welfare of their family, they must from 
necessity banish from their presence, one who had 
proved so dangerous by her captivations, and a 
source of such deep disappointment to their long che- 
rished plans. I must repeat, that I consider Fitz-Er- 
nest’s conduct selfish as well as reprehensible. What 
would become of the poor girl now, if we were to 
estrange ourselves from her ? But hush,” she said, 
“ I hear her voice speaking to Henry; for mercy sake, 
do not allow her to suspect that she has been the sub- 
ject of such a painful conversation; as yet, nothing is 
decided, and still I have hope that the present aspect 
of affairs may improve; at any rate, fain would I put 
off the evil day, and not disturb, if possible, the reco- 
vered happiness of this dear sweet girl.” 

Rosalie now entered, looking so unconscious, and 
with an expression of such modest innocence in her 
countenance, that I saw it made the same impression 
on Lady Gertrude as it did on me. 

She kindly — tenderly greeted her; there was even 
more affection in her manner than usual, and I fully 
appreciated the generous motive which influenced 
her. 

But Rosalie only remained a very few moments 
with us. She was full of anxiety on Algernon’s ac- 


84 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


count, and begged to be allowed to go to him imme- 
diately. The little boy was so extremely fond of her, 
and she had so completely the art of amusing him, 
that Lady Belmont, at the instigation of the repeated 
demands he made for his “ pretty Rose,” had sent a 
carriage, and an earnest request that she would come 
to Belmont House. 

As soon as she could quit her arduous duties of the 
day, she lost no time in repairing to the bed-side of 
the sweet child; glad to devote to his service the pe- 
riod she could call her own, before she was again 
summoned to her professional business. That eve- 
ning she was to appear in the new Opera, and her time 
was not at her own disposal. 

The charm which her presence seemed to exercise 
over the little sufferer, was quite extraordinary, and 
so soothing was the influence of her voice, that the 
kind girl, though already fatigued by hours of prac- 
tising, scarcely was allowed for a moment, by the 
exacting invalid, to cease singing; and Lady Belmont’s 
fond maternal heart, which always inclined with fa- 
vour towards our heroine, was more than ever touch- 
ed, as she watched her unwearying goodness to her 
sick darling. How amiable did she appear to her — 
how engaging, as she looked upon her, seated bv the 
bed, supporting the child in her arms; soothing him so 
effectually, and producing, to his irritable little frame, 
a degree of tranquillity which no other means had 
yet been able to accomplish. 

To those who had witnessed Rosalie’s celebrity on 
the stage — surrounded by all the dazzling accompani- 
ments of a theatre, it was a strange contrast to behold 
her now, in the subdued light, of this shaded apart- 
ment; and never, perhaps, did she appear more inter- 
esting — more to be admired, than as in the loose drape- 
ry of a white wrapping gown, shedding its hue upon 
the marble whiteness of her complexion, she sat 
chaunting some beautiful Italian air, adapted to sim- 
ple English words — the spontaneous effusion of the 
moment, framed to please the baby ear of the young 


TIIE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


85 


listener, who lay so tranquillized — so placid on her 
bosom. 

How little Lady Belmont guessed the state of Fitz- 
Ernest’s feelings, when he slowly entered her boudoir, 
which adjoined the sick room! He had come to make 
inquiries after the health of his little brother. Her 
eyes were still glistening with the tears of mingled 
pain and pleasure, which she had derived from the 
contemplation of the scene she had just witnessed. 
Without speaking, and motioning him to be silent, his 
mother gently led him into the next apartment. 

What a sight for Fitz-Ernest! His tender parent 
little knew what fuel she was throwing on the fire, 
that was already devouring him. 

The darkened room gave him full liberty to gaze 
unperceived — to revel in the contemplation of her, 
for whom he felt so madly, so imprudently. 

And there he could have stood for ever unsatiated 
— unwearied, listening to that voice of exquisite me- 
lody, the tones of which to him, were, indeed, those 
of enchantment. And then those eyes, now so soft, 
so bewitchingly mild, as they fixed themselves with 
such melting tenderness upon his favoured little bro- 
ther 1 

Oh how he envied him at that moment! To be en- 
circled by her arms, to receive those fond caresses, 
gladly would he have sold his birth-right, ay without 
a sigh, and all the privileges belonging to it. It was 
long ere Fitz-Ernest could tear himself away. It was 
only on the little boy changing his position, and ask- 
in" for something to drink, that he had courage to 
move; and when Lady Belmont observed his agitated 
countenance, absorbed in the one engrossing feeling 
of anxiety for her sick child, she only attributed 
the excessive emotion of Fitz-Ernest to the same 
cause. Far was she from devining the real state of 
the case ! 

And what would have been her distress had she 
known the sufferings her own maternal hand — so gen- 

VOL. II.— 8 


86 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


tie — so kind inflicted upon her elder son ! It was 
through her that the wounds of his heart had bled 
afresh, and that he left her, with his mind more dis- 
turbed — more wretched than before. 


— »>»# © #«— • 


CHAPTER XII. 

This night the Opera of Medea was to be performed, 
and Rosalie was to make her appearance, for the first 
time, in that character. She was, therefore reluctantly 
obliged to leave the little boy, who was becoming every 
moment, more tenacious of her attentions, at an early 
hour. 

The popular feeling in favour of our heroine, en- 
sured for the house a most splendid attendance ; as 
was always the case, when she performed, it was lite- 
rally thronged ; and amongst the brilliant circle, be- 
fore whom she had the honour of appearing, their 
Majesties had signified their intention of visiting the 
theatre. 

The character of Medea was a most laborious and 
difficult one for so young a beginner, and expectation 
was at its height. 

It had always been a favourite part with Rosalie, 
and on her own account she anticipated no difficulties. 
But with Arturo — it was an arduous task, to induce 
him to do justice to the character of Jason. He had 
wholly opposed it. In his present perverted — excited 
state of temperament, he was a very difficult person 
to manage; and now in this instance he chose to fan- 
cy that he was sinning against her whom he loved, 
by even in semblance, showing a want of allegiance to 
her cause. 

Could he only pourtray the character of her slave 
— her lover, then in what a marvellous manner did he 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


87 


exert his great talents ; how did he modulate the tones 
of his splendid voice ; but, to personate her enemy, to 
love another, to abandon Rosalie ! — he could not, would 
not do it, and he terrified us all by his pertinacious ob- 
stinacy. 

It would be his ruin, it would be a breach of his 
engagement; and we were in despair, for his charac- 
ter had much changed lately, he had become head- 
strong, unmanageable. 

At length, however, Rosalie’s influence as usual pre- 
vailed. She could generally mould him to her wishes, 
and ever in extremes, now to please her he exerted him- 
self to the utmost, and the professional people were 
half mad with delight. Nothing ever had been so 
successful. The last rehearsal was every thing they 
could wish, and the profound respect which Rosalias 
great genius commanded, might have turned a head 
es s strong than hers. 

But she heeded not the praise she received ; her 
mind was too absorbed, too preoccupied ! I observed 
lately that the slight cough, to which I believe I have 
before alluded, had much increased ; but whenever I 
spoke of it, she made light of the matter, and always 
changed the subject as quickly as possible. On ques- 
tioning her mother and Johnson, however, they terri- 
fied me by saying, that it had long been a subject of 
anxiety to them, and that at night it was sometimes 
incessant. They also mentioned other attendant symp- 
toms which filled me with alarm. But what could be 
done? 

To arrest her steps half way in her brilliant path 
would, I felt sure, be next to impossible, with such a 
man to deal with as Gabrielli, for when I mentioned 
my apprehensions to him, he could scarcely restrain 
his impatience and anger, declaring that the cough 
was merely nervous ; and that the clearness and flexi- 
bility of her voice, and the perfect ease with which 
she sung, showed plainly that there could be no dis- 
ease of the chest; he added moodily, that he was cer- 
tain the way to increase it, was to remark it to her. 


88 


the young prima donna. 


With this, I was forced to be satisfied, but I was far 
from being easy or happy ; and every time I heard 
the dreaded cough, it gave me an inward shudder. It 
seemed to my ears, like a sound of foreboding evil. 
But to return to the original subject of the chapter. 

All the success with which Rosalie had hitherto 
met, was unequal to that, which crowned her efforts 
this night, in her new character of Medea. She seemed 
to attain the very summit of eminence. 

The admiratian of the audience was mingled with 
extreme surprise. It was, indeed, scarcely credible, 
that a girl not yet nineteen, could so completely iden- 
tify the fierce, the superb Medea, a character so full 
of diversities. How beautiful were her transitions. 
And at one moment how truly feminine were the feel- 
ings she pourtrayed. 

The adoring wife ! all a woman’s outraged tender- 
ness, was exemplified in every look, in every action. 
And then the change to jealous rage and fury — her 
rejected love — how fearfully did she exhibit the influ- 
ence of these passions. I could hardly believe the re- 
ality of my senses. 

It could not be my gentle Rosalie transformed into 
a blood thirsty demon. Her bursts of frenzied revenge 
— of direful jealousy ! It was with difficulty that I 
could bear to look at her — so dreadfully true was her 
acting — so faithful to the worst part of human nature. 
My very soul revolted at this spectacle of passion 
which was now presented, in all its frightful naked- 
ness, to the eye. 

But it was a splendid specimen of acting, and the 
effect it had on the audience was astounding. Mrs. 
Siddons herself never created a more thrilling sensa- 
tion, than she called forth in the scene with Giasone, 
when he demands the question, Che sperar posso ? 
che mi resla ? and Medea answers in that one short 
monosyllable ! “ lo!” 

Her attitude — her expression is not indeed describa- 
ble ; but it elicited from all, one loud simultaneous 
burst of praise. 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


89 


To me it was a relief, when in the interview with 
her children, she relapsed again into her own charac- 
ter — the tender — loving woman. Her pathetic ac- 
cents — the natural gesture of mournful sorrow, with 
which she caressed the little victims of her crushed 
affections, drew tears from my eyes, as well as from 
those of every person, who witnessed this heart-rend- 
ing scene. 

But to me the charm was soon dissipated. The 
demon of fury seemed again to seize her ; again she 
was the relentless — remorseless Medea; and shudder- 
ing I turned away. 

When all was over, again were the thundering 
plaudits heard, and once more the exhausted girl was 
obliged to come forward, to meet the enraptured ac- 
clamations of the audience. It appeared as if the pub- 
lic eye could not be satiated — as if they wished to re- 
tard to the last, the moment when the envious curtain 
should fall, and hide her from their admiring gaze ; 
and it is impossible, but that her young heart must 
have swelled with triumph; there must have been a 
feeling of gratified pride — of exultation, which sup- 
ported her delicate frame after such fatigue. 

But her part was not over: there stilled remained 
a trial for her strength, for when the curtain had at 
last descended, and she was about to retire, Fitz-Er- 
nest suddenly stood before her. I think I have alrea- 
dy mentioned that he was one of the Lords in waiting 
to the King. 

He accosted her in a hurried manner, “ Rosalie,” 
he said, “ I have been commanded to lead you imme- 
diately to the Royal box. Their Majesties desire to 
congratulate you on your success.” 

Rosalie, who was already very pale, became so 
much more so, that I thought she would have fainted ; 
but she said, “ Is there no escape for me, Lord Fitz- 
Ernest; must I really go?” 

• “ There is none, dearest Rosalie, and why should 
you wish it ? I would not for the world that you should 
forego this flatering distinction. To me it is a proud 


90 


THE VOUNG PRIM A DONNA. 


moment. I glory in the office of presenting you to 
our kind and most gracious King, whose condescend- 
ing manner will soon disarm you of your fears. And 
he° Majesty is all goodness, and has taken a warm 
interest in your we!fare.’ , And whilst Fitz-Ernest 
spoke, his countenance was brighter than it had been 
for some time. Gently placing her hand under his arm 
he led her away, with triumph in his air. 

When Rosalie found herself in the augusbpresence 
of her sovereign, her innate sense of what was right, 
gave an ease and grace to her manner ; and the hear- 
ty warmth, which was mingled in the praise her Ma- 
jesty bestowed upon her,, reassured her, and imparted 
a vivid delight to her heart. 

It was a period upon which she dwelt, as long as 
she remained in this world, as one of the happiest of 
her existence. 

I had been always astonished at the degree of self- 
possession which Rosalie ever evinced. It was 
strange to witness, combined as it was, with the per- 
fect modesty and humility, which pervaded all her ac- 
tions. It embellished every other perfection, casting 
a high bred .character over her general deportment, 
like the mounting of a rare jewel adding to its origi- 
nal splendour. She possessed the charm of manner, 
which in my opinion ranks superior even to that of 
beauty. 

No one would have supposed that she was so young 
— so lowly; and in the gorgeous dress of the superb 
Medea, she looked and moved a queen. She stood 
surrounded by some of the first nobles of the land. It 
was a nervous position for her; but Fitz-Ernest told 
me, that her presence of mind did not forsake her. 

Her manner was calm, though profoundly respect- 
ful, as led forward by him, she advanced towards the 
gracious presence. 

How his heart swelled with rapture at every word 
of commendation bestowed upon her by their Majes- 
ties 1 He forgot, for a moment, his perplexities; he 
existed upon the delight of the present, the exultation 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


91 


of his heart, at seeing her, in whom he took so lively 
an interest, thus nobly appreciated. 

Before Rosalie was suffered to depart, the King had 
asked from his consort a brilliant ornament of much 
value, which he presented to the blushing grateful 
girl ; and as she bent low to receive it, his Majesty, 
with his usual condescension, put forth his hand, 
which with all the fervour of her nature, she ventured 
to press to her lips. 

So much favour, publicly displayed towards the 
young actress, and from such a quarter, spread its 
influence like electricity, not only amongst the brilliant 
circle, but with every one; and from henceforth there 
was a fierce rivalry, all striving to surpass each other, 
in lavishing favours and attentions upon our he- 
roine. Every one seemed now ambitioning a look, 
a smile from the hitherto humble candidate for their 
praise; but Rosalie saw nothing, derived no other gra- 
tification, but that which sprung from the unlooked 
for kindness and condescension of the venerated mo* 
narch, and his excellent Queen; and, when, at length, 
she received permission to depart, and again rejoined 
me, her countenance beamed with radiance. 

All her previous fatigue appeared to have vanished; 
she had been revived by the magic elixir, which bene- 
volence has the power to impart. How often will the 
cordial smile of approbation gladden the humble, and 
raise the dejected ! How often will even the tender 
look of sympathy impart encouragement to the diffi- 
dent. How lovely is genuine kindness ! From that 
source flow a thousand advantages, apparently small 
in themselves, but of the highest importance to the fe- 
licity of others; offices that altogether escape the no- 
tice of the cold and unfeeling, whose harshness of 
manner cancels the act, even when they mean to do 
good. He whose actions flow from the genuine feel- 
ings of benevolence, follows the noblest impulse of the 
heart. He obeys the most amiable dictate of his na- 
ture, as the vine produces fruit, and the fountain pours 
forth its streams- 


92 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


And certainly there never existed one who more 
truly exemplified this amiable spirit, than the exalted 
personage who thought it not degradation to look with 
kindness upon the lowest of his subjects; and even in 
his high station, deigned to take part in their joys 
as well as in - their sorrows — truly “ to rejoice with 
, them that do rejoice, and weep with them that 
weep.” 

Hence the smallest benefit he conferred, his slight- 
est notice made its indelible impression; for affection, 
as well as gratitude, was deeply felt. What an ex- 
ample did he leave to his people ! for such sentiments 
elevate, refine and ennoble the mind. But alas ! we 
still continue to estrange ourselves from one another, 
by unkindness and competitions, when in cordial union 
we might be so much more blessed, neglecting those 
better, purer sources of joy, which flow from thq af- 
fections of the heart. 


— s e«— 

$ 

CHAPTER XIII. 

The idea which Sir Francis had formed, upon the 
subject of Rosalie, was not a mere ebullition of fancy. 
Unlike the schemes which in such quick succession 
were created by his changeful mind, this last impres- 
sion clung with a tenacity to his imagination, which 
had he felt disposed, he could not have shaken off. 
But the difficulties which encompassed his gaining ac- 
cess to her presence, seemed daily to increase, in 
proportion with his impatience to obtain the object, 
ior which he panted. Even Gabrielli and his sister, 
whom he thought he could use as tools for his pur- 
pose, were now no longer to be bought. The success 
of our cantalrice so unprecedented, and beyond his 
most sanguine expectations, so completely raised the 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


93 


respect and consideration of Gabrielli, that he had 
become her obsequious, humble servant. 

Her wishes were^rfow sacred to him; and Rosalie 
having once intimated that she would receive no visi- 
ters, this was sufficient; and the Italian availed him- 
self of this pretext, to close his door against all in- 
truders. Indeed, his wily mind soon embraced the 
advantage which such an inclination on the part of 
Rosalie afforded himself — for the advances of Sir 
Francis or any other man, would be truly detrimental 
to his own interests. 

At her own home, therefore, Rosalie was unap- 
proachable, and at the Opera, I was always at her 
side, and although very often she was surrounded by 
a host of men, and Sir Francis was ever of the num- 
ber, he was unable to gain from her more than the 
cold unsatisfying courtesy which she bestowed alike 
on all. There was a marble frigidity in her manner 
which distanced many. 


“ Chaste as the icicle 
That’s curded by the frost on purest snow 
And hangs on Dian’s temple.” 

Certainly there is no passion so wayward as love — 
so full of inconsistencies, of contradictions, and no- 
thing exemplified it more strongly, than this extra- 
ordinary feeling of Sir Francis, towards the appa- 
rently insensible girl. He who had all his life re- 
ceived for every attention he had lavished, a gratified 
return ; he who had been courted, followed, praised, 
had now to sue, to humble himself for even a look, a 
little word from a lowly girl, whose only support was 
her innocence — her purity, which cast around her a 
magic circle of protection. 

The discomfited Baronet was at a loss how to pro- 
ceed, and deeply did he now regret having so little 
cultivated any intimacy, with such near relations as 
the Belmonts. 

Both Fitz-Ernest and his brother Henry, he evi- 
dently saw, were more distant than usual in their de- 


94 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


meanour towards him. Lord Henry could never for- 
get the slighting manner, in which he and his despi- 
cable toady Templeton had presumed to mention the 
name of Rosalie ; he had related the circumstance to 
his brother, and we may well imagine, how fiercely 
his heart responded to the feelings of indignation, 
which influenced Lord Henry. 

However, to obtain a footing in the Belmont circle, 
was the only means our Baronet could devise, to for- 
ward his designs upon the present object of his pur- 
suit ; which, extraordinary to say, where he was 
concerned, were really honourable. And now his en- 
deavours were directed towards conciliating the fa- 
mily in every possible manner. 

And well did he understand the art of fascinatien ; 
with his handsome person, his easy high-bred ad- 
dress, it was difficult to withstand the influence of his 
blandishments, when his whole mind was bent to the 
purpose of insinuating himself into the good graces 
of any one. He now sought those assemblies where 
he might meet the Belmonts — visited their box after 
the Opera was over — paid gentle and cousin-like at- 
tentions to the newly-presented Lady Geraldine, and 
finally, succeeded in making an improved and pleasing 
impression on the minds of the ladies. He had heard, 
by chance, of the illness of the little boy, and, al- 
though he was before not even aware of his existence, 
and, certainly, had no very high-wrought feelings on 
the occasion, yet, so skilful an adept was he in the 
fashionable art of humbug, that the solicitude and 
kindly tone of his voice — his well-acted look of con- 
cern, whilst he made inquiries after his “ little cou- 
sin ” — were so soothing, so flattering to the tender 
mother, that, in spite of herself, a complacent feel- 
ing towards him soon inspired her, and communicated 
itself to her daughters. 

They began to wonder why they ever disliked 
him ; and we might, perchance, have heard 
them discourse on the ill-nature of the world, and 
how wrong it was to form an opinion of a person 
upon the word of another. Certainly, as Sir Francis 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


95 


would himself have said, he had “done the thing 
properly.” 

A dinner engagement soon gave him the much de- 
sired entree into Belmont House. As it was only a 
small and very select party, Gabrielli had allowed 
Rosalie to sing, a favour of which he was very tena- 
cious. Sir Francis managed this interview with the 
greatest tact and discretion. His attentions to our 
heroine were not such as to excite any peculiar at- 
tention ; but, still he contrived to mingle in his ad- 
dress; so much of respect — of admiration, combined 
with deference — that it was impossible that she should 
not feel gratified; and she could not avoid relaxing 
in her very restrained manner towards him. Under 
the protecting roof of her friends she imagined, that 
even in thought, she was safe from evil. 

Fitz-Ernest was not there^and Lord Henry was 
also detained by regimental duty — so the coast was 
clear. 

This evening laid the foundation of other visits, 
and, by degrees, our Baronet had most cleverly 
worked his way, and established a footing of intima- 
cy, which brought him frequently to the house, and 
into the society of Rosalie; gradually, the icy frigi- 
dity of her deportment was melting away ; and the 
more he saw of our heroine amongst his high-bred 
cousins, so considered, so favoured ; and the greater 
knowledge he gained of her polished mind, her re- 
fined and dignified manners, the more he felt con- 
vinced that she was fitted, in a most eminent degree, 
to fill the station which he destined for her. 

There was one who observed all this in silence, but 
with pleasure, mingled with many anxious feelings. 
Lady Gertrude, alone, perceived the real state of 
the case; and her heart throbbed with delight and 
pride. 

“ If he is only worthy of her ;” she thought, “ what 
happiness will it be, to see her exalted to a situation in 
the world which she is so well adapted to fill !” and 
the partial eyes of her friend overlooked every disad- 


96 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


vantage, which her position in life might have sug- 
gested to others, in her union with one so far above 
her in rank and station. She thought only of her, 
individually, and dwelt upon her many excellencies — 
her goodness — her beauty— her talents. 

Besides, she reflected that Sir Francis stood alone. 
He had no anxious father nor mother, whose affection 
might have formed hopes, in which ambition had its 
share ; and who might interpose the formidable word 
“ prudence .” And then, again, when she considered 
the character of Sir Francis, with her own purity of 
mind, she could think no evil of others — there could 
be no real vice under such an aspect as his ; — Rosa- 
lie’s influence would correct every little foible ; the at- 
tachment he evinced towards her, was a proof, a 
guarantee, to her innocent perception, of his good 
judgment; and, with <41 the romance of her young 
age, she built an airy fabric, of future honour and 
happiness, for her friend, in which her own felicity 
was deeply involved. 

We cannot doubt, but that the youthful sophist, 
combined with these wishes, other hopes; she had 
another friend, in whose welfare she was equally in- 
terested. Rosalie’s marriage with Sir Francis would 
be productive of more than one source of importance; 
and she thought of Fitz-Ernest — that subject which 
grieved her so bitterly. In short, she dwelt upon the 
theme till she had fixed it all, and, as the dear girl 
sat ruminating upon this delightful scheme, she smiled 
with pleasure— with triumph! What a glorious ter- 
mination would this be, to all the troubles— all the la- 
bours of Rosalie ! 

And, having once decided upon the eligibility of her 
project, Lady Gertrude determined to give it every as- 
sistance in her power. 

Henry’s regiment was at Windsor, therefore, he 
only, occasionally, joined his family, and Fitz-Ernest 
kept so completely aloof from the circle, that he was 
ignorant of the intimate footing which his gay cousin 
had gained amongst his relatives. Even I knew very 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


97 


little of the present proceedings; for a- very severe 
fit of the gout detained me almost a prisoner to my 
apartments, although I contrived, with some difficulty, 
never to desert my post at the Opera House. 

Lady Gertrude did not cummunicate her ideas to 
any one, save her intended, whom she created an as- 
sistant in her plans, of facilitating the visits of the Ba- 
ronet to Belmont House. Of course, Lord Alandale 
was all ardour in any cause, which was advocated by 
his fair betrothed; and he was too young and too 
much in love, to make any cold calculations as to the 
prudence or expediency of the event, upon which she 
had, so anxiously, set her mind. 




CHAPTER XIV. 


« Templeton,” said Somerville, one morning, “ if 
you have finished spelling over the Satirist, I will give 
you a piece of information which may, perchance, 
astonish your weak mind.” 

“What is it, mon cher?” he said, yawning and 
stretching himself; for the luxury of the soft cushions, 
and the easy structure of the chair, in which he had 
ensconced his fat person, produced a very lethargic 
feeling, and he had nearly fallen asleep over the paper 
he held in his hand. 

“ What will you say, if I tell you I am going to be 
married, Templeton?” 

This speech had the effect of completely arousing 
the amazed toady. He started up; but it was not 
with joyful emotion, such a communication was not 
at all likely to afford him pleasure. Far otherwise. 
A matrimonial manage would entirely destroy his 

VOL. ii— 9 


98 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


present comfort — militate against various conveni- 
ences, which were, to him, of the most vital impor- 
tance. 

The entrte into the house of his patron, which had 
been the delight and glory of his life! A fine lady at 
the head of the establishment, and all was over with 
him. No more snug breakfasts! His eyes almost 
filled with tears, and a loud sigh heaved from his pon- 
derous chest, when the recollection of the excellent 
bachelor dinners — the recherche suppers, recurred to 
his imagination — those blissful moments, when, with- 
out restraint, he could enjoy every delicacy: — 

“Could cut and eat and come again.” 

Now, in a moment, all his future hopes w.ere de- 
stroyed. In his mind’s eye, he pictured a proud, grand 
looking Lady Somerville, seated at the head of the 
table, whose cold demeanour, and aristocratic bon ton , 
would actually take away — even his appetite, should 
he chance to be again invited to the table. 

The thought of all he should have to relinquish did, 
indeed, give a pang to his heart ; and it was with 
something like a groan, that he said — “ Well ! I sup- 
pose I must congratulate you, although, upon my 
word, you have taken me deucedly by surprise! You 
are the very last person 1 should have suspected of 
having matrimony in your head, and I would scarcely 
now believe you, did you not look so unnaturally 
grave and positive. — But,” he continued, “ truly, there 
is nothing certain — nothing indeed !” and his voice 
became pathetic and sentimental, “excepting, as my 
old father used to say — death, and taxes.” 

Sir Francis could hardly forbear laughing at'Tlie wo- 
begone manner in which his communication had been 
received; and knowing pretty well, the nature of his 
friend, he guessed, with much accuracy, what was 
passing in his mind. 

“ Have you the least idea,” he said, “ who is the fair 
enslaver, whose charms have been able to draw into 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


99 


such a scrape a bachelor, so established as you ever 
imagined me to be?” 

“ Oh!” replied Templeton, looking very wise, “ I see 
the thing at once. I have had my misgivings for some 
time.” 

“Now, who is it that your wisdom has fixed upon?” 
inquired Sir Francis, with some curiosity. 

“ Oh, of course! one of those stately-looking aristo- 
cratic cousins of yours. Let me recollect — the one 
that has just come out. Oh! I have it! — Lady Geral- 
dine de Vere; for, certainly, lately, you have lived 
with no one else but that haughty exclusive famity; 
much to the surprise of your friends, I can tell you;” 
and here Templeton assumed quite an offended air. 

“ No, you are wrong in your guess,” replied the 
Baronet, “ and, to save you all farther cogitation, I 
will tell you, at once, who it is. I have my own par- 
ticular reasons for being thus explicit, therefore, open 
your ears and listen. It is my intention to propose to 
Miss Elton, wjio is, at present, designated the Signo- 
ra Rosalia .” 

“ Hurrah! hurrah! thank goodness,” cried Temple- 
ton starting up, clapping his hands, and actually ca- 
pering about the room; “ so much the belter — so 
much the better; “ if you are to be married, you can- 
not do better;” for with the quickness of thought, the 
idea suggested itself to his mind, that such a marriage 
would not militate half so much against his interests, 
as an alliance with a high born equal. He knew little of 
Rosalie beyond her position, as living with the Gabri- 
ellis; and he now thought of the matter, exactly in 
the same light, as if he were about to present his hand 
and charming person, to the little Fanny. 

Sir Francis looked up, and viewed these contor- 
tions with astonishment. 

“ May I ask,” he said, “ what is the matter? Are 
you distracted? Upon my honour,” he continued, no 
longer able to resist a smile, “ you remind me exactly 
of a bear learning to dance upon a hot iron; pray sit 
down, for you quite shake the room and my nerves, 


100 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


by this extraordinary manifestation of ecstacy, the 
cause of which I can in no way comprehend.” 

“ I will soon explain it,” Templeton replied. “ When 
you told me, that you were going to take unto your- 
self a wife, I felt totally floored; you know you’ve al- 
ways been very kind to me; your house has been open 
to me morning, noon, and night, and you must be 
aware, my good fellow, that every body is for himself 
in this world.” 

“ Well,” said Sir Francis, “ I cannot imagine what 
that can have to do with the subject.” 

“ I’ll speedily let you into the secret. It just came 
into my head, that if you had chosen one of those fine 
ladies, she might perchance have turned up her nose at 
me; for I know I am not quite one of the Almack’s 
dandies — not in that grand dull set, which fashionable 
ladies consider indispensable to those, with whom they 
associate; and by the by, a stupid cursed slow' one it 
is, in my opinion. However, to stick to the point ; it 
just struck me all of a heap, and thinks I, well, there’s 
no more fun for me here. Now that you’ve told me 
you are only going to marry that pretty Heiress ii is 
quite another thing. Why the’re the jolliest little de- 
vils in the world. They have not been spoilt, by being 
brought up to think that no body is. worth looking at, 
but those who belong to the peerage; or have lived in 
the atmosphere of exclusiveness. They take things 
and people as they come, and live in this world to en- 
joy its good things, without weighing titles and dis- 
tinctions, and manners, and pursing up their mouths, 
calling one person vulgar, and another genteel, and 
so on.” 

Every word that fell from Templeton’s silly lips, 
added to the indignation which was rising in the 
breast of Sir Francis. He was too angry to speak 
for some time, therefore, this long tirade was allowed 
to proceed without interruption. He felt, in the irri- 
tated state of his temper, that had it not been too un- 
dignified for a gentleman of his refinement, it wmuld 
have been a satisfaction to hurl the book he held in 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


101 


his hand, at the carrotty head of the unfortunate 
Augustus, who continued to rub his hands with great 
glee. 

“ Well, this is a relief upon my honour. I should 
not wonder if this was to put me up to marrying 
Fanny.” But Templeton had the sense not to make 
audible this last idea. Some fortunate instinct whis- 
pered that he had better not; and lucky it was for 
him. Sir Francis was already pale with anger. 

The refined — the beautiful Rosalie — aristocratic, at 
least, in mind — in appearance, to be ranked thus by 
the contemptible puppy ! 

“ Templeton,” he said, in a voice which imme- 
diately subdued the raptures of the former, “you are 
the greatest fool in existence, and not only are you 
simply a fool, but a most presumptuous — a most im- 
pertinent one.” 

Templeton stopped short, and looked suddenly 
round, very much like a dog that has received an 
unexpected kick, and is preparing to sneak away, 
with his tail between his legs. 

“ I beg to inform you, Sir,” continued the Baronet 
with an air of cold dignity, more alarming to Tem- 
pleton than a hearty burst of anger; “ that the lady 
to whom 1 am about to offer my hand, is generally 
considered, in every way, save that of rank, equally 
calculated to inspire respect and consideration, as my 
cousins, the Ladies de Vere, whose names you have 
presumed to use with such freedom; and although she 
may have appeared on the stage, her position is total- 
ly unlike that of those who surround her; if I suc- 
ceed in my suit and am so fortunate as to persuade 
her to become my wife, and the mistress of my esta- 
blishment, there is no Lady de Vere or any other ti- 
tled woman in the land, who will know belter how 
to choose her society — or whose delicacy of mind 
and innate sense of what is due to herself, will shrink 
with more disgust from the vulgar and ill-bred. I 
sent for you here to mention the circumstance, from 
motives of my own. I knew it would be the best 
9 * 


102 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


vehicle 1 could make use of, for its circulation. I 
wish it to be known generally. The young lady is 
the bosom friend and companion of the Ladies de 
Vere, and in all ways calculated to make me happy. 
You are at liberty to tell all this in every club, and to 
every one who will listen to you; and I trust it will 
put an end to the impertinence and persecution to 
which Miss Elton is exposed, from the advances of 
the presumptuous. My eye will be ever on the watch 
— my ear open to every offensive expression, and wo 
be to the person who presumes to look or speak — by 
word or deed, either to interfere with my suit, or to 
lessen the dignity of her virtue by their insolent gos- 
sip. Now this is all I have to say, and as I have 
some business to transact, I shall wish you good 
morning.” 

And Sir Francis, in that cool contemptuous man- 
ner, which no one knew better how to assume, put 
out his hand and rang the bell that was close to him, 
and then opening his book began quietly to read, and 
poor Templeton, looked very silly, walked off. 

On the stairs he met the house-steward, who was a 
great ally of his. 

“ Jennings,” he said in a trembling voice, “we are 
ruined.” 

Jennings stared, and on seeing the countenance of 
Templeton, was really alarmed ; and, perhaps, it was 
hardly a relief to his fears, when on asking for an 
explanation of these terrific words, Templeton ex-- 
claimed in an emphatic tone, “ ’Tis all over, he’s gor 
ing to be married.” 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


103 


CHAPTER XV. 

It was ever a great trial to the patience of Sir 
Francis to find himself obliged to relinquish attend- 
ing the Opera. One evening he had been command- 
ed as a guest to the royal table, and as a state ball 
was to ensue, he knew that there would be no possi- 
bility of getting away, until long after Rosalie had 
left the theatre. It was a cause of acute regret, and 
nothing could exceed his mortification; for he felt that 
it was the only certain means of seeing her, so inac- 
cessible was she always at her own home. He had 
made himself sufficiently acquainted with her move- 
ments, to be aware that she was scarcely ever at Bel- 
mont house, on the morning of a performance. 

To do the Baronet justice, I believe it may be truly 
said, that he was sincerely and honourably in love; 
and this passion, which really in itself is most beauti- 
ful — most purifying, had wrought its improving effect 
upon his mind. All that was gross and sensual in his 
nature, seemed to be refined. Love that springs from 
purity'- of purpose, is ever mingled with respect, and 
already Sir Francis appeared changed. His old as- 
sociates — his usual haunts became distasteful to him — 
all the trivial nothings that before had completely en- 
grossed his mind, had lost their relish. Even to him- 
self this caused surprise, and as he mounted his horse 
and rode at a rapid pace, avoiding the park, and 
taking one.of the roads that led out of London, he ru- 
minated on the extraordinary mood that had come 
over him; and as he went on he allowed his spirited 
horse to take a brisk trot, and lost in his own reflec- 
tions, neither saw nor heeded any passing object. 

So deeply was he abstracted, that he was not at 
all aware of being nearly on the point of riding over 


104 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


a man, who was in the act of crossing the road. In- 
deed the horse’s head had touched his shoulder, be- 
fore the Baronet had the power of reining in his im- 
patient steed. On casting his eyes around to apolo- 
gize to the person he had thus annoyed, his looks en- 
countered the fierce glare of Arturo, who stood in the 
midst of the road, holding in one hand a basket con- 
taining flowers. The two young men instantly re- 
cognised each other. Sir Francis well knew the 
Italian; and the hatred which was entertained by 
both, was as mutual as it was bitter. Sir Francis 
had noted well the looks of rage with which he had 
ever regarded him. At first the startling suspicion 
crossed his mind — could he be the favoured lover of 
Rosalie? 

But soon these odious ideas had been chased away, 
for by his newly acquired intimacy with his cousin 
Gertrude, who never wearied of the theme, he had 
contrived to extract every incident in the life of her, 
in whom he felt so deeply interested; and she had 
told him of the hopeless passion of the handsome Ar- 
turo. 

Reassured by this knowledge, Sir Francis in the 
insolence of his pride, would have treated him with 
contempt, as if beneath his anger or his thoughts, but 
in the bearing of the Italian there was something so 
noble, so commanding, that although he hated him 
and, with some cause, still he felt that he dared not 
take a liberty with him. 

Every time Sir Francis appeared behind the scenes, 
fain would Arturo have sought an opportunity of pro- 
voking him to some act, which might bring them in 
competition with each other; at least if looks that 
spoke daggers could have had the effect of rousing the 
slumbering lion. 

But Sir Francis was on his guard. First of all his 
arrogant nature deemed the youth too contemptible 
for him to notice; and ihen again, if his choler did 
rise, he checked the feeling, for he well knew the pe- 
culiar sentiments of affection which Rosalie entertained 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONllA. 


105 


towards the impetuous boy; and so anxious was he 
to conciliate her, that much would he have tolerated, 
rather than allow himself to be irritated so far as to 
commit any act, that might forfeit the increased 
favour which he hoped he had found in her eyes. 

At the present juncture we must exculpate the Baro- 
net from an intention of insulting Arturo. He was 
not even aware that any individual was before him, 
but to the inflamed mind of his unhappy rival, the act 
in itself was sufficient to bring to its crisis the explo- 
sion of hatred that w T as ready to burst in his heart; and 
no sooner did he perceive who was the aggressor 
than, with the spring of an infuriated tiger, he caught 
at the bridle, and endeavoured to seize it. 

Somerville warded off his approach, and his hot 
blood rising to about the same degree of intemperance 
as his enraged antagonist, he levelled a blow at him 
with his whip which took but two sure an aim; and 
urging on his horse he galloped off, leaving Arturo 
speechless, immoveable, rooted to the ground, almost 
turned into marble by the stunning effects of this most 
unfortunate deed. 

His countenance was, absolutely, unearthly — every 
demoniac passion seemed painted upon it. - 

“ Vengeance was in his heart, death in his hand ; 

Blood, arid revenge were hammering in his head.” 


The description given by the groom who followed 
Sir Francis, and who was, afterwards, obliged to give 
a detailed account of the scene, was very frightful. 
The inward tortures of the youth were depicted in the 
terrific distortion of his features. For many moments 
he stirred not. 

At length with an exclamation of horror, he raised 
his hand to his cheek, upon which the blow of the 
whip had made a deep impression. Falling on his 
knees, he clasped his hands together, then lifted them 
up on high, and his lips were heard to pronounce 
some emphatic words. After remaining a moment or 


106 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


two in this attitude, he slowly rose, and, drawing his 
hat over his eyes, walked away with rapid strides. 

The man related that the whole affair created such 
a feeling in his mind, that he could not, in any way, 
shake off' its impression — that it actually haunted him; 
and, that if he lived a thousand years, he could never 
get the dreadful looks of the Italian out of his head; 
and, he added from that moment his heart misgave 
him. 

Sir Francis rode on, in a towering passion. His 
blood was boiling with indignation; but it was with a 
sensation of savage satisfaction, that he reflected on 
the chastisement which he had bestowed upon the 
audacious stripling. 

He rode for some hours, and only returned home in 
time to dress for dinner. He was in no mood to play 
the courtier that evening. Gladly would he have 
pleaded illness, or any other cause which might serve 
as an excuse for his non-attendance ; and he had se- 
rious thoughts of getting into bed, and sending for 
Sir Henry Halford, who, from the disturbed state 
of his pulse, might really, with truth, have pro- 
nounced him to be labouring under much excitement 
of system. 

But the remembrance suddenly struck upon his ima- 
gination, that he was to meet the Belmonts, and, in 
another instant, he was dressing with great alacrity. 
At least, he should hear of Rosalie, and have the pri- 
vilege of talking of her ; and, in the space of a short 
hour, he was in the full enjoyment of this happiness, 
having, fortunately, obtained a seat at the dinner ta- 
ble by the side of Lady Gertrude; and, from his con- 
versation with her, amply was he repaid for all the 
vexations of the day. 

Her manner towards him, influenced by the change 
which her feelings had undergone during the few last 
weeks, was friendly and confidential. She assisted to 
draw him on, to speak of the subject that was nearest 
his heart, so, before they parted this evening, he had 
poured forth to her the whole story of his love ; and. 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


107 


so eloquently did he speak, every expression that he 
used, bore the impress of such honourable feelings — so 
much of generosity — of disinterestedness, that Ger- 
trude’s warm heart was at once captivated, and, with 
fervency, enlisted in his cause. 

Sir Francis well knew how to use the power of 
speech. It had ever been his favourite maxim — 


“ That man that hath a tongue, I say, is no man, 
If, with his tongue, he cannot win a woman ; 


and, certainly, ere he had accomplished his designs, 
Gertrude was charmed — elated. If the young Lord 
Alandale had been there, he might, perchance, have 
been surprised to watch the glow of delighted anima- 
tion which spread over the countenance of his lady- 
love, as she listened, with intense eagerness, to the 
honeyed words which fell from the lips of the insinu- 
ating Baronet. She was, indeed, overjoyed : Sir 
Francis had spoken directly to her heart. At least, 
he wore the beautiful semblance of excellence ; and, 
in the unsophisticated innocence of the sweet young 
lady, she no longer doubted what she so anxiously 
desired. And Rosalie, the darling, cherished friend 
of her earliest youth, would be happy, as she deserved 
to be; — would be exalted to a sphere for which she 
was so well fitted, by the elegance and refinement of 
her mind. The bond of relationship would unite them, 
if possible, in still closer intimacy. The miseries she 
now endured would all vanish; and she turned her 
eyes with — even gratitude — upon her aristocratic- 
looking cousin. 

Never, for a moment, did a doubt cross her mind 
that he could have any difficulties to encounter; and 
the affectionate girl returned home, in a state of 
ecstacy of spirits, which amazed those around her; for 
she did not communicate to them, the cause she had 
for exultation. 

Sir Francis had requested her, for a few short days, 
to keep his secret ; and to this she had acceded, al- 


108 


THE YOUNCf PRIMA DONNA. 


though she was doing great violence to her feelings, 
for she longed to spread intelligence which, she hoped, 
would cause universal satisfaction. 




CHAPTER XVI. 

The little boy, Algernon, had rallied considerably 
from his long and dangerous sickness, and was pro- 
nounced almost convalescent; when Rosalie, who 
had not been able to pay him her accustomed visit 
the day before, received a note from Lady Belmont, 
informing her that the child had had a relapse, and 
was again extremely ill : the Marchioness requested 
that she would come to Belmont House that day, if 
possible, as the suffering boy had been asking for her 
repeatedly. 

To Rosalie’s great distress, this was not to be ac- 
complished. The whole of the morning was to be de- 
voted to a rehearsal; and Gabrielli, who, in common 
with others, had begun to be seriously alarmed at her 
state of health, and increase of cough, was peremp- 
tory in his orders, that she should take rest, and not 
exert her voice in any way until the evening, when 
she was again to perform at the Opera. 

This made her very uncomfortable. She knew the 
irritable nature of the child ; to wait till the morrow 
would be a complete, age of expectation to him, and 
might bear the semblance of unkindness in her. 

But, what was she to do 1 Gabrielli, once firm in 
his commands, was immoveable. She could only write 
her regrets. 

I accompanied her, as usual, to the Opera. Medea 
was again performed, and, once more, she covered 
herself with glory. Well as she had acted hitherto, 
I could not help imagining, that never before did she 


•ms YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


109 

display such genius; and now, I might liken it to the 
last expiring flash of an exhausted lamp — startling by 
its brilliancy and by its sudden extinction. Little did 
the audience imagine, when again they insisted on her 
coming forward, that they looked on her for the last 
time— for the last time had heard that voice— the re- 
membrance of whose melody would never be forgot- 
ten. Others might succeed — sparkling and beautiful 
-—but never, never , could there be another Rosalie! 

She seldom changed her dress when the Opera was 
concluded; but, merely wrapped herself in a cloak, 
and, with a veil thrown over her head, returned to 
her home. I always conveyed her to the lodgings. 

This night, as soon as she was seated in the 'car- 
riage, she said to me — “I have the greatest favour to 
ask you, Mr. Leslie. Will you leave me at Belmont 
House? lam so anxious about little Algernon, that 
I feel certain I shall not close my eyes this night, if I 
do not see him. But I will not keep you, for 1 know 
you are not well, and are suffering pain from your 
foot. I will ask the porter to detain the carriage, 
when it brings Lady Belmont and her daughters home, 
for I know they were obliged to go to the Queen’s 
ball. Until they arrive, I can sit by the dear little 
boy. If he is asleep, I shall have the satisfaction of 
watching his slumbers, and can relieve the wearied 
nurse; should he be awake and restless, no one can 
sooth and amuse him as well as I have the power of 
doing.” 

I tried to dissuade her from this. I pleaded her 
own delicate health, and the extreme fatigue she had 
undergone; but, as this had no effect, I endeavoured 
to alarm her, by mentioning Gabrielli’s anger; but he 
was engaged to some supper, she knew, and would 
not return till the morning ; and his displeasure she 
would, willingly brave, to gain a point upon which 
she had so anxiously set her mind. As was ever the 
case, I had not the power to resist her entreaties. 

“ But, your dress, my child,” I said ; “ what an at- 
tire for a sick room!” 

VOL. II — 10 


110 


THE YOUNG PRIM A DONNA. 


She laughed, and answered — “That will be easily 
managed. 1 can soon cast it off, and borrow a dress- 
ing gown; therefore, not one of your arguments will 
avail, so let us, at once, drive to Piccadilly, and in- 
dulge my whim with your usual kindness.” 

So we went there, and having arranged her plans 
with the porter, I left her, and returned home to nurse 
my poor agonizing foot, which ought properly never 
to have left the foot-stool. 

Rosalie soon glided up the stairs, and found herself 
in the boudoir of the Marchioness. There she was 
told, by an attendant, that the little Lord was very 
restless; the doctor had given him a sleeping draught, 
which as yet had not composed him, and he had only 
just left him, saying his patient was not much bet- 
ter. 

The nurse was with him, and as Rosalie softly en- 
tered the sleeping apartment, her tender heart was 
pained by the sound of exclamations of suffering and 
impatience, which were bursting ever and anon from 
the lips of the sick child. The nurse was in vain try- 
ing to quiet him. 

Rosalie said in a soft tone, “ My poor Algernon, 
how grieved I am that you are ill again. Rosalie is 
come to sing to you, to endeavour to make you bet- 
ter, and to ask her little darling to lie still and try to 
sleep, and then he will soon be well, and his poor 
mamma will be happier.” 

The child immediately knew the sweet voice which 
addressed him, and held out his feverish hand, but 
looked surprised when he saw her thus enveloped in 
the large cloak and veil, which so altered her ap- 
pearance. 

She perceived this and said, “ I will take off this 
cloak, Algernon, and then you will see what a beau- 
tiful dress 1 have on ; but as I am going to stay with 
you an hour or two, Mrs. Norris will, I am sure, bring 
me a dressing gown which I shall put on, as soon as 
you have admired me sufficiently.” 

On her throwing off the cloak, the little boy looked 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


Ill 


at her with admiration and then exclaimed, “ But you 
must not take it off, Algy likes to see it. It makes 
him think of the good and beautiful fairy you read 
about the other day ; so don’t take it off,” he again 
repeated in the petulent tone of sickness. 

And Rosalie, who would fain have disencumbered 
herself from the gorgeous dress, so heavy and incon- 
venient, particularly in her present capacity of nurse, 
cheerfully acceded to his request; and entreating 
Mrs. Norris to retire to her bed in the next room, pro- 
mised to watch by the invalid until the return of the 
carriage obliged her to relinquish her post. 

Too glad was Mrs. Norris to avail herself of this 
permission. She knew that her lady would be satis- 
fied, and the child even more easily tranquillized than 
if she remained; so Rosalie was left alone with her 
charge. 

He begged that a light might be so placed that he 
could look upon his “ beautiful fairy,” and then de- 
sired her to sing, which she did in a low soothing tone 
of voice, kneeling by his bed side; a position which 
enabled him to examine more closely the ornaments 
round her neck. With his eyes wide open and fixed 
upon this dazzling object, the little fellow lay quite 
still for some time, but by degrees the eyes began to 
close, and though he seemed to wish to keep them 
open to gaze again, and again upon the radiant figure 
before him, at length the heaviness of sleep prevailed, 
and the closed eyelids shut her from his sight. Soon 
his breathing gave indication of calm and refreshing 
repose, and his watchful friend, knowing how long it 
had been a stranger to his irritable frame, hailed with 
joy this symptom of amendment. 

So fearful w-as she of disturbing him, that fatiguing 
as was the position she had taken, she remained in it, 
still holding one of his little hands, and continued to 
sing, lest the sudden cessation of sound might break 
his slumber. 

And what an opportunity was this, of breathing 
forth the devotion of her heart to the throne of grace! 


1 12 THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 

On her knees, in a half darkened room, by the side of 
a mortal spirit which looked as if it were hovering 
between earth and heaven, the life of the adored child 
of parents so virtuous, so beloved, was hanging, as 
it were, by the most slender thread. But the hand of 
the Almighty could save it — the power of the Omni- 
potent surrounded it. And Rosalie prayed fervently, 
although her aspirations were poured forth in song. 

And what language is more fitted to excite and to 
express the best feelings of our nature, or more suited 
to convey the sorrow of the labouring heart? Rapt 
in the enthusiasm of adoration — of devotion — which 
her ideas inspired, she heeded nought besides ; — nei- 
ther time, as it sped its rapid flight, nor any other 
consideration, and she continued to chaunt forth her 
earnest supplications. 

But, suddenly, her ear caught a sound. She paused 
and listened, and then a deep drawn sigh, caused her 
to cast her eyes towards that part of the room from 
whence it proceeded, and she saw, standing at the 
other side of the bed, Lord Fitz-Ernest ! He leant 
against the opposite wall; his arms were folded, and 
how long he might have been there, she could not 
guess. 

Rosalie’s first impulse was to rise suddenly, but the 
idea of awakening the child checked her, and she re- 
mained in the same position ; but her face was crim- 
soned with emotion, and she bent her head upon the 
coverlet. 

A painful pause ensued. At length, it was broken 
by Fitz-Ernest, who said in a hollow, agitated tone, 
“ Rosalie, I must speak to you.” 

She shook her head, and pointed to the child, but, 
with an impatient gesture, he exclaimed — “Is he, 
only, to be considered?- — have you no feeling left but 
for him — when I so much more require the solace 
which you alone can afford?' You must come into 
the next room, Rosalie, and speak to me; or the alter- 
native will be, that, in another moment, I shall be 
gone, and you will never see or hear of me more.” 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


113 


Rosalie sickened with terror, not only at his words, 
but at the expression of his countenance ; for, by the 
shaded light of the lamp, she saw that it was wild and 
ghastly in the extreme. She gently extricated herself 
from the child, and hastily approached him. 

“ What mean these dreadful words?” she exclaimed 
ou fill me with terror!” 



“ My meaning is this, Rosalie,” he said, and, at the 
-same moment, he caught her in his arms, and pressed 
her convulsively to his heart; “shrink not with such 
terror; — I mean no wrong. I am here to ask you to 
decide my fate. 1 adore you — I feel that I cannot exist 
without you! — promise to be mine — my wedded wife 
— the beloved partner of my future existence ; — and 
then, what care I for aught besides? You will be my 
world — my all. With you to gaze at — to solace me 
— what could I not endure? Every thing! — Reproach 
— scorn — exile from my country — my friends! Only 
say the word — sweetest — dearest Rosalie! — say that 
you will be mine, and I am happy! — happy! — how 
feeble the expression to pourtray the ecstatic feeling 
with which such a prospect fills my heart I” 

As he thus spoke, his eyes truly flashed with the 
radiance of ecstasy. 

“ Oh, God ! in mercy support me; — strengthen me 
in this bitter hour of trial!” cried the almost distract- 
ed girl, as she struggled to disengage herself from the 
impassioned embrace of Fitz-Ernest ; and, having by 
an effort freed herself from it, she fell, at once, pros- 
trate before him. She encircled his knees with her 
arms — she embraced them; but it was only to sup- 
plicate his mercy — his forbearance. 

“Fitz-Ernest !” she exclaimed, “ as you value the 
peace of the short time I shall have to exist, unsay 
those dreadful words!” 

“ What! do you reject my suit?” he cried, almost 
fiercely; “do you spurn a love like mine?” 

“ Listen to me!” she said, as she remained kneel- 
ing at his feet, from which position he vainly endea- 
voured to raise her. 


114 THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 

“•No!” she exclaimed; “here will I remain until 
you have heard me speak — until I have softened your 
heart. Fitz-Ernest,” she continued, “ you are speak- 
ing to one — breathing words of love, to a being whose 
days are numbered. But a short time remains for 
me. I have here a deadly malady; — my lungs are 
gone. As sure as I am a suppliant at your feet, six 
months will not have passed, before all my earthly 
troubles are ended-. This is a secret. I have divulged 
it to no one; but it is as true as there is a God in Hea- 
ven! Now, heed what I have to say. No power 
would, at any time, have tempted me to listen to your 
wild proposal; therefore) dear, dear friend of my 
youthful', happy days, remember that the only com- 
fort I can hope for, on this side of the grave, is to re- 
tain the love of those 1 so much value. Do not seek 
to tarnish my fair fame — to deprive me of the only 
possession to which I cling with fervant tenacity — 
which soothes my every grief — renders even trouble 
light— the affection, 1 may almost add, the respect 
and regard of your revered parents. F.tz-Ernest,” 
she continued, her low tones becomingeven more em- 
phatic, “ if you could imagine how soothing it is to 
my mind, to reflect, that when I am no more, your 
sweet mother — your good father— your sisters, will 
all remember me with love— will honour the spot 
which, I am certain, they will prepare for my cold re- 
mains, you would not seek to deprive the poor girl of 
her only happiness. By your conduct to-night, you 
may, perhaps, destroy these long cherished hopes* 
which have been my support through all that 1 have 
undergone.” 

Here a fit of coughing stopped her utterance, and, 
when she removed her pocket-handkerchief from hen 
mouth, it was saturated with blood. 

“ There!” she exclaimed; “ and now, will you be- 
lieve me?” J 

Fitz-Ernest was, indeed, inexpressibly shocked, 
surprised, and. heart-stricken. He trembled so vio- 
lently, that he had scarcely strength to raise her>, 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


115 


which she now allowed him to do, as she was almost 
exhausted; and he placed her on a seat. 

“1 have not said half what I have on my mind/’ 
she continued, after a short pause, “ and speak I must, 
though they may be the last words I am able to utter. 
You say you love me; — then you will promise to obey 
my dying injunctions.” 

Pitz-Ernest started. Rosalie saw that his heart was 
softened — that the fiery nature of' his feelings were 
calmed; for his manly spirit was quite subdued by 
what he had seen and heard; and tears, which sprung 
from a mingled source, chased each other from his 
eyes. 

“ Leave London- to-morrow,” she said; “ but, be- 
fore you do so, write to Lady Constance. Tell her, 
you grieve that you have given her sorrow, — and, of 
sorrow, believe me, she has tasted bitterly! — but, say 
that your dream ot darkness is over — that you will 
return, at the appointed time, to chaim her as your 
bride — an altered man! Nay, start not! turn not thus 
away! it is Rosalie who implores — who solicits this 
last boon from you; and, when she is gone, her re- 
membrance will no longer be a feverish phantom of 
your imagination, as she is now, alas! But, may she 
not be your mediating spirit?- — may she not be al- 
lowed to hover round you, and witness your earthly 
bliss? Blest, you must be, if you obtain the affections 
of one so good — so excellent. Should you persevere 
in your present course, my doom is sealed! I shall be 
cast off— scorned — by those whose smiles arc, to me, 
as the dew of heaven upon the parched earth ! — and 
the wretched, heart-broken Rosalie, will die — despised 
— unloved! Her ashes will not rest peaceably, and 
oh! so blest! in the shaded corner of the dear church- 
yard at Fairbourne. No one will love her; no one 
will heed her! but the finger of scorn will point at her, 
as the worthless ingrate, who turned from his af- 
fianced, noble bride, the heir of the house of Bel- 
mont ?” 

How vainly can description portray the sfrongemo- 


116 


THE YOUNO PRIMA DONNA. 


tions, which struggled for mastery in the breast of the 
unhappy young man. They were as varied, as they 
were tumultuous and agonizing* 

But, in the words and demeanour of Rosalie, there 
existed an indescribable power, which seemed to ar- 
rest every feeling. The influence it created was most 
powerful — most extraordinary. It appeared as if there 
emanated from her a halo of sanctifying purity, which 
altered the current of his ideas. He could almost 
fancy her unearthly; and as still, with a fixed gaze 
fastened upon her countenance, he watched its vary- 
ing and almost heavenly expression, a sensation, 
which partook even of awe, began to pervade his 
senses. She was, indeed, too pure, too celestial, to 
be approached by mortal passions; an inspired mes- 
senger, sent to point out to his erring heart the path of 
rectitude; and, though his admiration increased to 
the highest pitch of enthusiasm, the storm' of feeling, 
which raged so furiously, seemed calmed. Oh! how 
commanding is the stern, the peremptory influence of 
virtue! 

Rosalie noted the change in his speaking counte- 
nance. Now was the moment to take the decisive 
step — to accomplish the work of justice — to urge the 
being whom she so fondly — so devotedly loved, into 
the only path which could lead to future happiness 
for him, although that path would conduct him far 
from her for ever. For a moment a sudden feeling 
rendered her mute. A pang of regret shook through 
her whole frame. 

She held within her grasp — but wa-s about to relin- 
quish, a treasure she had so long hid with such ten- 
derness-such care; — her heart had been its hiding 
place, but from that heart it was to be torn, never 
even in idea again to enter. 

For an instant she covered her face with her hands, 
and then starting up she cried, “ Will you promise me 
to go — to endeavour to forget me;— no,” and her voice 
softened, “ not forget, but only to recollect me as your 
little protegee of former years* Say will yon write 


the young prima donna. 


117 


to Lady Constance, whose heart your unkindness has 
agonized; and that you will return and fulfil your 
plighted vows to one whom you once prized, and 
whom you will learn to love more kindly than ever? 
Say you will, or you will kill me — with your own 
hand would you inflict my death blow?” she ex- 
claimed vehemently, as a loud knock announced the 
return of the family; and Fitz-Ernest terrified by the 
agonized expression of her countenance, murmured a 
faint assent; and once more taking her in his arms, 
and pressing a hurried though fervent kiss upon her 
pale lips, rushed distractedly from the apartment. 

Rosalie, with a degree of feebleness that could 
scarcely sustain her exhausted frame, had only pow- 
er left to regain the bed-side of the child, and there she 
sunk in a state of insensibility. 




CHAPTER XVII. 

Ox entering her boudoir, Lady Belmont found every 
thing still and quiet. One small lamp alone burnt 
upon the table. The door was open, which led to 
the chamber of her sick child, but all was silent. 
With a heart beating with maternal hopes arid fears, 
she gently advanced. He was asleep she felt certain, 
and that idea in itself was comfort. 

The room was almost in darkness. A single light 
dimly lent its influence to rescue it from total obscuri- 
ty. How was Lady Belmont startled as gently she 
gained the side of the bed, to perceive a figure stretch^ 
ed across the foot of it. At the first glance she ima- 
gined it to be the nurse, who wearied with watching, 
had given way to sleep; but as her eye became ac- 
customed to the subdued light of the room, she saw 


118 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


with amazement the extraordinary dress, the dishe- 
velled locks of the prostrate form ; and in another mo- 
ment the identity of Rosalie flashed upon her mind. 

For a short space she was occupied in listening with 
delight, to the calm breathing of the little boy, which 
told a certain tale of amendment, it was like: — 

A holy thing from heaven 
A gracious dewy cloud. 


She ventured softly to touch the little hand which 
lay upon the coverlid; and with a thrill of joy felt con- 
vinced that the fever had subsided. 

“Dear kind Rosalie,” she thought, “ how conside- 
rate, how good; after all the fatigue of the evening, 
to come here and watch over my boy. No doubt her 
voice has soothed him into this sweet sleep,” and she 
looked tenderly towards the motionless girl; then for 
the first time, there w r as something in the complete 
prostration of the position she had taken, which struck 
her as unnatural. She approached, and lifted up one 
of her hands, which hung listlessly over the side of 
the bed, and its icy coldness made her absolutely 
shudder. 

“ Rosalie,” she whispered anxiously, as she endea- 
voured to rouse her. 

But no answer could she obtain, and Lady Belmont 
thoroughly alarmed, hastily summoned the nurses, 
who soon discovered that the poor girl was quite in- 
sensible. 

With tender care they raised her, and she was car- 
ried into the adjoining apartment and laid upon a sofa. 
Lady Belmont immediately sent for the Marquis, and 
every means were used to restore her, when, after a 
lapse of some minutes, they had the inexpressible re- 
lief of seeing her open her eyes. 

With a wild start, she sat upright on the sofa; and 
removing with her hands, the hair that had escaped 
from its bands, and was falling over her face, she 
stared round with a bewildered gaze, turning her 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


119 


eyes confusedly from one person to another, as if she 
were seeking for some particular object. Her mind 
was evidently wandering; but on the Marchioness 
gently placing her arm round her waist, and affec- 
tionately soothing her, she again uncovered her face, 
which she had buried in her hands, and after looking 
for a moment steadfastly in the countenance of her 
benefactress, convulsive sobs heaved in her bosom ; at 
length she was relieved by a burst of tears. Her 
kind friend would not even by a word interrupt the 
soothing current, which she hoped might eventually 
calm her. 

The entrance of Lord Belmont with the apotheca- 
ry, in a degree, roused her, when the Marchioness 
began to question her, anxiously; and Rosalie con- 
fessed that she had been long much more indisposed 
than she had dared to acknowledge; and revealed 
symptoms of her complaint, which spread consterna- 
tion amongst all those who heard her. 

She now earnestly entreated to be allowed to re- 
turn home. Unfortunate girl ! she longed ardently 
for the privacy of her own apartment, where she 
might commune alone with her almost distracted 
mind; and with fervent prayer and supplication to 
the throne of grace, implore for that healing consola- 
tion, which nothing in this world could afford. 

She told me, afterwards, that she felt as distinctly 
as possible, that she had received her death blow. 
An inward feeling imparted to her that the dread fiat 
had gone forth, and that her days were numbered. 
And too true were her words ! 

Lady Belmont, in vain, implored her to remain with 
them that night, but she was firm in her refusal ; and, 
at last, they were obliged to allow her to depart in the 
carriage, which the porter had, by her orders, de- 
tained; the Marchioness insisted upon her being ac- 
companied by her own maid ; and it was with a fore- 
boding heart that she saw her, with feeble steps, leave 
the apartment. 

In common with others, Lady Belmont had re- 


120 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


marked with anxiety, the increased cough of Rosalie ; 
but the dreadful symptom which that night had met 
her eye, was like the passing knell that told of death. 
It was with a chill at her heart that she bade her fare- 
well. At a very early hour, the next morning, I re- 
ceived a note from her Ladyship, requesting my im- 
mediate attendance. 

I found that she had risen at an early hour on pur- 
pose to see me, and my blood curdled in my veins, 
when I listened to all she had to say. Her apprehen- 
sions I felt were but too well grounded. She had written 
a note to her own physician, which she requested 1 
would, without delay, deliver, and then repair with 
that skilful practitioner to the abode of the invalid. 

I must ever remember, with respect and admiration, 
the genuine sympathy and solicitude, which this 
charming lady evinced for our poor pro(6g£e. It was 
with tears in her eyes, that she related the events of 
the preceding evening, and the nurse’s account of the 
length of time Rosalie had sung to the little boy, in 
order to sooth him to sleep. 

This seemed to distress Lady Belmont extremely, 
for she could not help attributing much that had oc- 
curred, to the over fatigue which Rosalie had sus- 
tained. Little did she guess the real cause of the ca- 
tastrophe? 

It was with a heavy heart that I quitted her Lady- 
ship, and proceeded on my anxious mission. 


— ■ •*«« © — 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


When Fitz-Ernest bent his way towards the apart- 
ment of his little brother, I must do him the justice to 
say, that he had no idea whom he should meet there. 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


121 


Distracted as he was by the feelings, which were 
struggling for mastery in his breast, still he then re- 
tained sufficient strength of mind, and a sense of what 
was due to himself and others, to enable him to endea- 
vour to avoid throwing himself intentionally, into im- 
mediate temptation and danger; and he would not 
have thus intruded himself into Rosalie’s presence, 
had not chance brought him before her. 

There was much that was good and estimable in 
Fitz-Ernest’s nature. His heart was affectionate and 
kind, and he loved the little invalid, w T ith almost the 
softness of a woman’s feelings. He had returned late 
from the House, and finding that the family were not 
at home, he was anxious to ascertain, before he re- 
tired to rest, the last report of the sick boy. 

He expected to find some attendant in the boudoir, 
but seeing it unoccupied, he intended to seek the nurse 
by entering the sleeping apartment. But as he softly 
opened the door, his ear was caught by a sound 
that proceeded from it, which suddenly arrested his 
steps. 

Did his ear deceive him ? Was it a creation of his 
fevered fancy? Or was it really that syren voice, 
which struck so sweetly upon his surprised senses? 

He advanced a few paces, and for some time re- 
mained listening, with emotions too intense for de- 
scription, to the plaintive melody which, like the notes 
of an Eolian harp, breathed a wild and mournful ca- 
dence. Oh ! as he listened, how intense became the 
agony of his heart — and how he longed to look upon 
her, although the sight would be torture. 

Did not wisdom, did not prudence whisper loudly 
in his ear, to fly ? But under the influence of such 
feelings, as those which now so violently agitated 
him, when were their dictates ever regarded? No, 
he would not, could not tear himself away. Once 
more would he gaze upon her unseen — he would glide 
unperceived into the darkened room, he would take 
one long last lingering look— and then, he would de- 

VOL. U . — 11 


122 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


part; when to return? — Never, was now his impe- 
tuous idea. 

Passion had thrown its disfiguring veil over his 
senses, and he thought but of himself. 

He entered the chamber unheeded by her he sought. 
She was too deeply absorbed, in pouring forth the 
pious effusions which were flowing from her lips ; and 
her eyes were either fixed upon the countenance of 
the little boy, or raised in his behalf to heaven. Fitz- 
Ernest remained, therefore, in the full indulgence of a 
spectacle, so perilous to his peace of mind. How long, 
he knew not, for all was forgotten, every considera- 
tion save the one before him. — The scene that fol- 
lowed, I have before related ; and the sufferings of the 
wretched young man may be in some degree ima- 
gined, when, after leaving the presence of Rosalie, he 
found himself in the solitude of his own apartment — 
alone with his sorrow — no voice but that of conscience 
sounding in his ear. In Rosalie’s words — her actions 
— her looks, there had been almost a supernatural ef- 
fect. In his present excited state, the impression she 
left upon him was most thrilling — most imposing. Her 
form was still before his eyes, as she knelt with dark 
tresses floating in while disorder over her bosom — the 
red dress of Medea rendering even whiter, the alabaster 
purity of her skin — her uplifted hands, as she implored 
him, with a voice which echoed to his fancy, to im- 
molate the love he bore her, on the shrine of honour 
and of justice. She appeared no longer to his heated 
imagination, a creature of this world ; a vision she 
must have been — too celestial — too hallowed for a 
mortal to approach; and for a moment or two he felt 
almost calm. 

But then again he remembered her beauty — her 
captivation; and the strong current of his feelings 
heavily overpowered him with their maddening — 
their overwhelming force. No man that has once yield- 
ed up the government of his mind, and given the loose 
rein to his impetuous wishes, can tell how far they 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


123 


may impel him. They issue frequently from a small 
source, and at the commencement might have been 
easily stopped; but unchecked, they are soon widened, 
till the bank, at last, is totally thrown down, and tiie 
flood is at liberty to deluge the whole plain. 

The brain of Fitz-Ernest was a complete chaos. 
The night thus passed by him, was. probably the most 
wretched of his whole existence. He stood in the 
world, solitary with his misery — to no one dared he 
confide the secret of his sorrow; and in the present 
benighted state of his feelings, he could think of no 
hope — no comfort. 

The morning quickly dawned at this season of early 
light, but its reviving influence wrought no cheering 
effect upon him ; standing at an open window, he re- 
mained with his eyes fixed with a vacant stare, on 
the brilliant spectacle of the rising sun. 

At length, harassed by the fatigue of mental agony, 
he threw himself upon a sofa and endeavoured to 
shut his eyes, to compose himself, in order that he 
might have the power of reflection, for he knew that 
he must act decisively. The remembrance of his 
solemn promise to Rosalie, urged him to fly from a spot, 
whose very atmosphere teemed with peril to his peace 
'of mind. 

He had scarcely taken his position of rest, when a 
knock at the door startled him, and his servant en- 
tered, bearing in his hand a letter. The man looked 
surprised at the appearance of his master, whom he, 
of course, expected to find in his bed, and asleep; but 
he delivered the letter in silence, and Fitz-Ernest de- 
sired him to leave the room. 

When again alone, he looked at the address, and 
the faint tinge of colour which remained in his cheeks, 
entirely fled, and he trembled so violently, that his 
hands refused their office of breaking the seal. He 
laid the unopened epistle upon the table which stood 
before him, and really gasped for breath, as he en- 
deavoured to summon resolution to peruse its con- 
tents; for at the first glance he knew the hand-writing 
to be that of Rosalie. 


124 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

When Rosalie arrived at her residence in Regent 
Street, the knock at the door, which announced her 
return, was answered in an instant by Johnson, who, 
alarmed by her lengthened absence, was anxiously 
awaiting her. Ever mindful of the feelings of others, 
the exhausted girl exerted herself, and got out of the 
carriage, without showing a symptom of the indis- 
position which every moment became more over- 
powering. 

Lady Belmont's maid followed her, and delivered 
the message with which she had been charged by the 
Marchioness; the purport of which was, that she con- 
sidered Miss Elton very ill, and that early the next morn- 
ing she would send Dr. C to see her. Many 

were the proffers of assistance, which the civil wait- 
ing woman tendered to Johnson ; but Rosalie begged 
her to return, without delay, to her lady. 

Indeed, anxiously did she long to be alone and un- 
restrained, save by the presence of her faithful — 
devoted nurse. 

It was with some difficulty that she had strength 
to ascend the stairs. Her breathing was hard, and she 
complained of a sharp pain in her chest. Johnson 
was dreadfully frightened; but after she had assisted 
her mistress into bed, she hoped she was be- 
coming a little more tranquil and easy; seated by 
her side, she was listening with intense solicitude to 
the sound of every deep drawn sigh, that proceeded 
from her labouring breast, and watching her closed 
eye lids in the trembling hope, that sleep had weighed 
them down, when suddenly Rosalie started up, and 
said; “I dare say you will oppose what I am going 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


125 


to ask — you will think I am mad — wandering; but be- 
fore I allow myself to sleep, I must write a letter. It 
is of the utmost importance, and my mind will have 
no rest — no peace, until I accomplish my impatient 
desire.” 

It was vainly, indeed, that poor Johnson remon- 
strated against an act so full of danger — fatal to every' 
hope which she might entertain, of a speedy re- 
covery from the present alarming attack. Rosalie 
urged her request with so much vehemence; every 
refusal seemed to. excite her so fearfully, that at 
length, with tears of distress, she was obliged to 
yield ; and after propping her patient up with pil- 
lows, so as to make the position as little fatiguing 
as possible, she placed the desk before her; and Ro- 
salie immediately commenced writing in an eager, 
rapid manner, the following epistle : 

“ I scarcely think that I said enough to you in our 
dreadful interview to-night. I did not sufficiently im- 
press upon your mind, the earnestness of my appeal, 
to your sense of what is right and due to yourself — 
to others — to me, the unhappy Rosalie. Some more 
last words I must now convey to you. I talked at 
random when I said a few short months, and I should be 
no longer here. Certainly the Almighty is all-power- 
ful — nothing is impossible with him ; but as far as 
human eye can see, my conviction is, that my days 
even are numbered, and, at this moment, I feel as if 
I were laid upon my bed of death. But I may linger 
on for a short span, and as long as I am here, it de- 
pends upon you entirely, whether the remaining hours 
of my life are past in that peace of mind, which will 
enable me to sustain the trial which human nature 
must endure, under the influence of the awful dispensa- 
tion of the all-wise ruler of my destiny, who has thought 
fit to bid me prepare to relinquish my young life ; to 
resign it with submission ; and His name be praised ! 
with the assistance of His spirit I shall be enabled to 
do so with peace— almost with gladness; for that 
blessed influence has cheered the gloomy path, and 
II* 


126 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


shed a radiance over the appalling prospect of the 
dark valley. And now, you alone, Lord Fitz-Ernest, 
seem to stand an obstruction in the passage that 
would conduct my soul in peace to heaven. But you 
have it in your power to remove this torturing— -this 
cruel impediment. As long as I may be permitted 
to linger in this world, your words — your looks will 
haunt my imagination. Then promise to recall them, 
to forget that you ever uttered them. Swear that 
you will never dare to indulge in feelings which 
seem to implicate me in their culpability, although 
Heaven knows in heart, I am innocent. But may 
it not be imagined by others, that I, in some se- 
cret manner might have assisted in the delusion, which 
seems to have obscured your better reason? Heaven 
is my witness, that I would rather have forfeited 
every consideration on earth, that I most prized, than 
have proved the unconscious cause of what you now 
endure. Therefore, dearest, most beloved friend, to- 
wards whom my heart must ever beat with gratitude, 
for all the goodness that you have never failed to 

{ jour upon me, so gently, so kindly; attend to my 
ast request. Go far from hence ; in solitude, in 
prayer, seek to purify your mind from the baneful in- 
fatuation, which like a mist obscuring a fair prospect, 
hangs for a short space about it. Pray for support, 
as 1 have done through all my miseries : and may the 
healing influence of devotion prove to you as con- 
soling, as I have felt it to be. Offer your supplica- 
tions to Heaven in the belief, that there is a pow’er that 
can give us comfort; and the mercy which 'it vouch- 
safes so graciously to all, who with confidence rely 
upon its assistance, will incline it to afford it. Believe 
me, you have only to wrestle with the delusion that 
blinds you, and reason and justice will lend you their 
aid, easily to overcome it. Promise jue you will ge 
from hence; first having made your peace with that 
sweet being, whose heart, 1 fear, you have already 
clouded with sorrow. She will, I am sure, forgive 
you, and await with patient forbearance, the time 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


127 


when you will return restored to yourself, and worthy 
to claim her as your bride. And oh ! Fitz-Ernest, if 
my prayers could bring you happiness, what felicity 
would be your portion ! My dying hour will be spent 
in supplications to the Almighty in your behalf. 

“ And now, I must bid you farewell ! My failing 
strength tells me that I must cease, although I feel 
that I could dilate for ever on a theme, to me, so 
deeply interesting. Let me have your assurance 
that all will go well, that I may die in peace, with- 
out the dreadful idea presenting itself to my mind, 
that I have been the cause of destroyed hopes — dis- 
appointment — unhappiness, to those to whom I owe 
so much; to whom my heart so fondly clings. Oh ! 
if you could fathom the depth of the love — the grati- 
tude, I feel towards all your family ! and to imagine, 
oh! dreadful, cruel thought! that I, who would have 
sacrificed my every hope, to shield them from a mo- 
ment’s pain, should be the wretched obstacle to inter- 
pose between them and their happiness ! The very 
idea appears almost to deprive me of existence; to 
bring me to the very threshold of death ! But you, 
in mercy, will remove this agonizing, this torturing 
load ! you will not allow me to die — helpless — hope- 
less — heart-stricken ! you will, surely, send me some 
words of peace — of assurance — of repentance! Grant 
my earnest prayer ; say you will be your own ho- 
nourable self again, my friend, my comforter! and 
Heaven, protect and bless you ! 

“ Rosalie.” 

For some moments after she had finished this letter, 
Rosalie sank back upon the cushions, exhausted — al- 
most fainting; but she roused herself with an effort, 
and, with her own trembling hands, folded and di- 
rected it, then calling Johnson, she said — “ Now, make 
no remarks on what I am going to say, dear Johnson, 
trust to your child. As soon as it is light, take this 
letter, and give it, yourself, to Lord Fitz-Ernest’s ser- 
vant; unless you promise this,” she added, with vehe- 


128 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


mencc, “ I cannot even attempt to calm myself — for, 
on the result of its delivery, hangs the only prospect 
of peace I can have on this side of the grave. I know 
I am very ill, my poor nurse. Prepare yourself for 
that from which, I know, you shrink with dread; but, 
for my sake you need not be miserable,” and she 
threw her arms fondly round the neck of the weeping 
woman. “ Your child will gain by that which you 
may, for a time, lament. Why should you wish to 
retain her, struggling painfully a few more years in 
this tumultuous world? You ought to rejoice that 
there is a prospect near at hand, for me, of peace — of 
rest! But you will do what I have asked you, dear, 
good nurse, and I will try to sleep, and, perhaps, I 
may feel better when I awake.” 

But these last words were pronounced in a tone that 
belied their meaning. Poor Johnson, with bitter tears, 
acquiesced in all she demanded, and Rosalie tried to 
tranquillize herself to rest, but in vain. Her cough be- 
came more and more troublesome; and, when the al- 
most distracted woman arrived at Belmont House 
with the letter, of which the reiterated prayers of Ro- 
salie induced her to be the bearer, she had also ta 
communicate to Lady Belmont’s maid, the dreadful 
intelligence, that Rosalie, in coughing, had ruptured a 
blood-vessel on her lungs; and that she had left her, 
at that' moment, under the charge of a surgeon, whom 
Myrtilla had hastily ordered to be summoned. 

The wretched woman did not linger a second after 
she had executed her commission. With a heart al- 
most broken by sorrow, she returned to the bedside of 
her beloved child. 

Rosalie turned an eye upon her, full of anxiety, as 
she approached; and, seeing by her countenance that 
her wishes were accomplished, an expression of calm- 
ness superseded the excitement, which had so severely 
agitated her frame; and, laying her head gently on 
the bosom of her faithful nurse, she closed her eyes, 
and soon fell into a tranquil sleep. The surgeon* re- 
commended the utmost quiet, and promised to return, 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


129 


in order to meet the physician, whom Lady Belmont 
was to send that morning. 

It is easy to imagine the dismay of Gabrielli, at this 
most direful catastrophe — this death-blow to all his 
avaricious prospects. 

At one fell swoop, he saw his airy fabric swept to 
the ground. He had returned home, heated by wine 
and excess, and the first object that met his eyes was 
his sister, pale and haggard from extreme terror. At 
first, stupified by the effects of intoxication, he could 
scarcely comprehend, and would not give credence to 
her words. He received her communication with a 
burst of furious impatience; but when, at length, the 
surgeon was brought to him, and he heard the words 
— “ There is little hope remaining:” then did the truth 
indeed, burst upon his senses. 

But, how was it received? 

I turn from the subject with disgust — with horrol’! 
That man — that dreadful man! was he not the cause 
of all this misery? Truly, “ the expectation of the 
wicked shall perish!” 

I feel that I can scarcely proceed. The events 
which succeeded were of a nature so sad, so painful, 
that even now, their remembrance overpowers me. 
Day and night, the shadows of those who are departed, 
appear before my feverish imagination; and, when I 
think that I am left, and those, so fair, have gone be- 
fore me, with the poet I could exclaim: — 


“ When I remember all 

The friends so link’d together, 

I’ve seen around me fall, 

Like leaves in wintry weather ! 

I feel like one 
Who treads alone 

Some banquet hall deserted; 

Whose lights are fled, 

Whose garlands dead, 

And all but he departed. 

Thus, in the stilly night. 

Ere slumber’s chain hath bound me, 
Sad memory brings the light 
Of other days around me.” 


130 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


I repent that I ever acceded to the request that in- 
duced me to lay before the public, circumstances, 
which can but engender feelings of sadness. But, 
having proceeded so far, I will endeavour to complete 
my task, although it has become a heavy one; and 
opens wounds, which neither age nor time has been 
able to heal, in a heart which once loved with so 
much fondness the angelic being, whose history I have 
attempted to relate. 


NOTE BY THE EDITOR. 

Here the narrative assumes a different character. 
Mr. Leslie, whose health was in a most infirm and 
declining stale, had become still more ill and suf- 
fering, and the agitation which the relation of the fore- 
going story occasioned his mind, was so intense, that 
1 was fearful I should be deprived of the conclusion of 
a tale so fraught with interest. However, Mr. Leslie, 
with the kindness and consideration that marked his 
every action, seeing my disappointment and regret, at 
giving up my task as amanuensis, called me to the 
side of his bed, to which, of late, he had been almost 
totally confined; and, giving me a key, desired me to 
open a drawer in a cabinet, which stood in one cor- 
ner of the apartment, and to bring him a bundle of 
papers which I should there find, fastened by a black 
riband. 

He sighed heavily as I placed the packet in his 
hand, and almost immediately delivered it to me 
again, saying — “Take this; you will find therein what 
will materially assist you in the conclusion of the his- 
tory, which I have not strength left to finish with my 
own lips.” 

The documents which I then received, put me in 
possession of every fact that I was anxious to obtain; 
and, with the assistance of one who was an eye-wit* 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


131 


ness of the scenes, which follow those already record - 
ed, I have been enabled to conclude the history of the 
Cantatrice. 




CHAPTER XX. 

We will return to Fitz-Ernest, and behold him with 
Rosalie’s letter still in his hand, his eyes fixed upon 
the lines which he appeared to be reading over, and 
over again, with a sort of half bewildered air, as if 
he scarcely comprehended their meaning. So per- 
fectly lost was he to every consideration, but the one 
object before him, that it was hardly perceptible to 
him, that some one had again gently knocked at the 
door. As he did not heed the summons, it was not 
repeated; in another moment Lady Belmont slowly 
entered, and when he lifted up his eyes, his mother 
stood before him. 

She actually started and turned pale, when she be- 
held the countenance of her son. She had expected 
to find him in bed, and probably asleep; but in one 
rapid glance she saw that his head had not that night 
pressed his pillow; and there was something so hag- 
gard — so truly wretched in his appearance, as he 
turned his face first towards her, and then again 
averted it, hiding it with his hand from her view, 
that her maternal heart shrunk with a feeling that 
partook of horror — of surprised dismay; and at once 
she said, “ Fitz-Ernest, my dear dear son, what is the 
matter?” then sitting down on the sofa by his side, she 
took hold of the hand that was pressed tightly over 
his forehead, with the same degree of tenderness, that 
she would have evinced to the infant, Algernon, and 
drew him towards her. A mother’s softness knows 
no diminution. Is her child in sorrow, and all the 


132 


THE YOUNG PRIM A DONNA. 


tender love, the anxious self-sacrificing feelings return 
with the same ardent — heartfelt devotion, which 
glowed in her breast, when she was wont to press 
him to it in his helpless infancy. 

Fitz-Ernest still continued for a short time to avert 
his face; but “there is something in sorrow, that 
breaks down the pride of manhood, that sofiens the 
heart and brings it almost back to the feelings of in- 
fancy; and even in advanced life, the mother that 
looked on his childhood, that smoothed his pillow, and 
administered to his helplessness will be the friend to 
whom he will, with most confidence pour forth his 
heart — on whose bosom he can shed tears, which he 
would be ashamed that any other eyes should witness. 
For there is, indeed, an enduring tenderness in the 
love of a mother that transcends all other affections 
of the heart. ’Tis neither to be chilled by selfishness, 
daunted by danger, weakened by worthlessness, nor 
stifled even in gratitude. And if adversity overtake 
her child, he will be dearer to her through misfortune ; 
if disgrace settle upon his name, she will still love and 
cherish him, in spite of it, and if all the world cast 
him off, she will be all the world to him.” 

Lady Belmont saw that something had deeply af- 
fected her son, and she implored him to open his heart 
to her. 

“ Speak to me, my child,” said she. “ Confide in 
your mother, who has ever been your friend, as well 
as parent.” 

Still Fitz Ernest did not speak ; it was no sullen feel- 
ing that made him silent. The agony of his young 
heart was too great for words. It was subdued al- 
most to the weakness of a woman. Lady Belmont 
gave him time to recover, in a degree, although her 
own soul sickened with the dread, with which the 
mysterious grief of her son had inspired her. How- 
ever, she exerted herself, and began to speak on the 
subject which had thus brought her unexpectedly 
into his presence, trusting it might have the effect of 
rousing him. 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


133 


“Fitz-Ernest,” she said, “ I came to tell you of a 
circumstance that I am sure will shock you much. 

. Johnson has just been here to communicate the intel- 
ligence, that our poor Rosalie is dreadfully ill ; she 
has ruptured a blood vessel on her lungs, and Heaven 
only knows what will be the consequence.” 

At these words Fitz-Ernest started on his feet, with 
an exclamation that almost amounted to a fearful cry; 
and then said in a voice, the accents of which jhrilled 
with terror in the ear of his mother, “ It is I who 
have murdered her. It is I who am answerable be- 
fore Heaven for her death — it is your wretched — 
worthless son. You would spurn me, mother if you 
knew all, you would loathe the sight of him, you have 
so loved and cherished ; oh ! mother, mother,” he ex- 
claimed, throwing himself on his knees before her, 
“ ’tis I who have destroyed that sweet angelic Ro- 
salie.” 

The agony of Lady Belmont’s feelings almost 
equalled those of her son. The dreadful words of 
Fitz-Ernest brought to her imagination a crowd of 
images, which her alarm exaggerated in frightfulness. 
She absolutely gasped for breath, as she thought of 
what might be the real purport of his dreadful confes- 
sion. She had hardly strength to exclaim, “Fitz- 
Ernest, for the love of mercy, say what you mean; 
keep me not a moment longer in this awful suspense. 
What is it? Are you going to tell me, that she, whom 
we have nourished with such fond affection — wljom I 
have taken to my heart as pure and excellent — am I 
about to hear that she is false — perfidious?. Oh ! 
Heaven, avert this evil,” she cried, “let me not hear 
that she, whom I looked upon almost as an angel, has 
been as the treacherous serpent in our path.” 

“No, mother, no,” cried Fitz-Ernest, rising, his 
countenance almost brightening, “ fear not for her, 
she is — oh ! how can I express her excellence — her 
purity — her nobleness of mind. ’Tis I, who have been 
the deceitful tempter — the perjured lover; and just 
Heaven is already wreaking its vengeance on my 

VOL. ii. — 12 


134 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


head, by inflicting the tortures of self-reproach, I now 
endure. But I will tell you the whole of my miserable 
story. Listen to me with patience, and do not con- 
demn me till you hear all.” 

Lady Belmont already experienced a sensation of 
inexpressible relief. A dreadful idea had crossed her 
mind; and she inwardly thanked Heaven that it was 
but the phantom of her bewildered brain. Fitz-Ernest 
proceeded in a rapid — hurried manner. 

“ When I offered my hand to Constance Delaval, I 
really loved her, although my love was of a calm and 
gentle nature; but I acknowledged her virtues; I ad- 
mired her perfections, and was perfectly convinced, 
that with her for my wife, I might anticipate a life of 
calm and certain happiness. But little did I know 
the weakness of my own heart ! Had I even suspected 
that there was hidden in its recesses, so deep a well 
of unawakened passion, no consideration would have 
tempted me to offer to so perfect a being as Constance, 
affections so variable — so unstable. But at once to 
come to the point, I saw Rosalie, and from that mo- 
ment I was a wretched man. There was an inde- 
scribable magic in her charms, which even you, my 
dearest mother, can imagine ; from the instant I be- 
held her at a rehersal at the Opera house, the aspect 
of my whole destiny seemed changed. I have been 
the slave of passion ; and fearful have been the conse- 
quences to me; for though conscience is not alwavs 
strong enough to guide, it still has strength sufficient 
to dart a sting. I have been torn by contending feel- 
ings, the voice of honour upbraiding me for my want 
of allegiance to my affianced bride, imperatively 
urging me to return to her feet, whilst mv heart was 
filled with love for another. I must' do myself 
some little justice, by declaring that I did strive to 
overcome the weakness— that I did wrestle with the 
infatuation, which indeed obscured my better reason ; 
and you may have observed that I shunned the 
society of this house — was scarcely ever present, 
when she was here. I had even made up my mind to 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


135 


leave London — England; to banish myself, in order to 
fly from my passion. But last night, Heaven knows, 
without design, for I knew not she was there, I found 
her kneeling by the bedside of Algernon — radiant in 
loveliness, with that voice of matchless melody, 
pouring forth strains which might, indeed, have pene- 
trated a heart of stone. What then do you imagine 
they would produce on mine, already yearning as it 
was towards her with such devoted energy] 1 gazed 
upon her unperceived, until reason vanished from my 
mind. I lost all command — I was beside myself — all 
was forgotten, save that lovely creature to whom I 
offered my life — my hand — my fortune ! I urged her 
with impassioned force to fly with me — ” 

“ And what was her answer V f cried Lady Bel- 
mont, with breathless anxiety. 

“ Such as an angel might have listened to. Yes, 
dearest mother, she rebuked my presumptuous suit; 
she recalled me to a sense of duty; she said all that 
might have been expected to flow from a heart, so 
pure as hers. . Prostrate on the earth, she implored 
me to hear her dying words, she made me promise 
to fulfil my engagement with Constance. Oh ! you 
may think of her with redoubled admiration, with 
respect, with even gratitude; and here is a letter 
which I have since received from her, and which will 
confirm every word I have spoken.” 

Lady Belmont, with much agitation, perused it, as 
Fitz-Ernest stood before her, his eyes fixed with in- 
tense earnestness upon her countenance ; and whilst 
he watched it melting into tenderness and admiration, 
as every line conveyed to her mind the purity and ex- 
cellence of the poor girl, who, in the midst of so much 
mental and bodily suffering had exerted herself to 
write, tears again fell from Fitz-Ernest’s eyes ; but 
they were drops that flowed from a purified source. 
They were tears of repentance, of sorrow unmingled 
with passion. 

When the Marchioness had finished the perusal of 
this affecting document, her heart was too full to al- 


136 


THE VOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


low her to speak ; but she pressed her son tenderly 
in her arms, and that action spoke at once of sympa- 
thy, and also of forgiveness; in the midst of all his 
distress Fitz-Ernest felt soothed, for his mother was 
still his friend. 

When Lady Belmont could command her voice to 
speak, all that she could now do was to implore him, 
by the love he bore her; to compose himself; she 
promised, with her own lips to administer the only 
solace that poor Rosalie could now receive — a mes- 
sage of peace and consolation from himself; and with- 
out one word of reproach, left him in order to make 
every arrangement, that might, in any way tend to 
mitigate the sufferings of the afflicted girl. 




CHAPTER XXI. 

Sir Francis never awoke with a lighter heart than 
on the morning which succeeded his interview with 
Lady Gertrude, at St. James’s. Every object ap- 
peared to him bright and cheering; all was couleur 
de rose. His inward feelings were as new as they 
were pleasing; for the first time almost in his life, he 
had formed a plan which was virtuous in its inten- 
tion ; he could look with a bold glance upon the 
prospect it afforded ; and felt a sort of exultation in 
his own surpassing merits. He could not help ac- 
knowledging to himself that his previous life had re- 
ally been too reckless, too bad. It would be impossi- 
ble to go on in such a course much longer; but now 
he would study the rake’s last expedient, reform, and 
become a much more steady character. An opportu- 
nity at this moment presented itself, unattended with 
many of those repugnant sacrifices, which he ima- 
gined must ever follow in the train of a matrimonial 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


137 


engagement. A fashionable high-born girl had always 
been a horror to him, and to make proposals to one 
such, he had ever regarded as an impossibility ; but 
in the instance of his present attachment, the whole 
matter was different. He had no haughty, superci- 
lious dame to sbe to ; whose stiff, pompous, unbend- 
ing father was also to be conciliated, the frigidity of 
his dignity thawed, and condescension ensured, by 
the promise of large settlements and fortunes for 
younger children, &c. &c. 

The very idea of hymen, under these circumstances, 
would have given him a cold shiver; and never had 
he seen one beauty in his own sphere of life, whose 
charms were sufficient to induce him to reflect upon 
the subject with less repugnance* 

Now, though the very notion would have made him 
furious, had anyone possessed presumption enough to 
accuse him of it*; the same ideas that had caused 
Templeton such disgrace, exercised their influence 
over his own feelings. The present step could not be 
attended with such sacrifices, as were generally the 
accompaniments of an act, so fraught with evil con- 
sequences. to the liberty of a man of pleasure. There 
was no host of ceremonious relations to be enume- 
rated in the catalogue of the bores of his acquaint- 
ances; and, as for the legal part of the business, he 
had no one to urge, to consult, but the dictates of his 
own generosity ; and these were all munificent and 
liberal towards the object of his affection; so all was 
smooth, every thing seemed smiling around him, and 
in the liveliness of his heart, all the time he was per- 
forming his toilette, he was singing joyfully, 

“ What is life when wanting love ? 

Night without a morning 
Love’s the cloudless summer’s sun 
Nature gay adorning.” 

That day he was to dine at Belmont House, and 
Gertrude had promised that Rosalie [should be there. 
How long would be the hours that must intervene to, 

12 * 


138 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


the impatient lover ! but but he had an imperative 
engagement which would take him out of London, 
and might probably detain him till near the dinner 
hour. That would fill up the vacant morning, and he 
consoled himself by thinking, that there would be lit- 
tle prospect of catching even a casual look of Rosa- 
lie before that time. 

There was that passing in his mind which seemed 
to sooth him into patience; and we must do him the 
justice to say, there was much of a redeeming cha- 
racter, in the feelings of kindness and generosity, 
which actuated his present conduct. 

Under the overwhelming mass of vices and follies, 
which obscured the better qualities of our Baronet, 
there were some latent sparks of goodness. Circum- 
stances had increased, as well as engendered his 
faults. He had been his own master from the age 
of childhood. He possessed no parent — no friend to 
admonish him ; so, ever accustomed to be flattered — 
caressed and indulged to an excess the most per- 
nicious, his vicious propensities, instead of being 
checked, were eyen encouraged. His education had 
been begun at Eton, and completed at college; but 
his private character had never been cultivated. Com- 
pletely left to chance, born with passions, violent and 
difficult to control, of course they soon ran riot, 
and the tares which sprung up so plentifully, pre- 
vented any of the good seed which nature had im- 
planted in his breast, from blossoming to perfection. 
Of good seed, there was indeed some amongst the many 
weeds which desolated this fair prospect. Sir Francis 
possessed a most exalted opinion of his own perfections 
—of his position in life, in short of every thing that 
appertained to him. The idea of his not being ac- 
ceptable as a husband — and to Rosalie — could never 
for a moment have entered into his imagination. Men, 
who have lived the life which he had done, and those 
who have mixed little in the society of women, ex- 
cepting of those of a very inferior class, fix the standard 
<?f their intrinsic merits at a very low rate. They ima^ 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


139 


gine that vanity and mercenary considerations in- 
fluence their every feeling. They have no idea of 
the single-minded nature of their true affections — of 
the fervour and disinterestedness of their attachment, 
which even partakes of enthusiasm. 

Sir Francis had not the slightest misgiving as to 
the acceptance of his suit. He thought, perhaps, he 
might have a little trouble in getting her away from 
Gabrielli; and perhaps have to disburse a large sum of 
money, to indemnify him for the great loss he would sus- 
tain in Rosalie, as her talents must ensure him such a 
bountiful harvest. But that did not at all distress 
him. He was ready to compromise, to any amount, 
for his estate was enormous, and, strange to say, not 
very heavily encumbered. 

As he turned into Bond Street, on his way to the 
country, he passed Storr and Mortimer’s; there he 
suddenly halted, and entering the shop, asked to look 
at the diamonds that were preparing for the bride 

elect of the young Duke of C ; after examining 

them, he ordered a set to he put into preparation for 
himself; making however, some additions and altera- 
tions, which would render the pcirure more costly 
and expensive. 

“ As I am about it,” thought Sir Francis, “ I may 
as well transact a little more business this morning, 
for I shall want every thing in a great hurry, and 
these rascals are all so dilatory;, so he rode off in the 
direction of his coachmaker, and gave an order for a 
splendid London chariot, and other equipages, which 
were to render the future Lady Somerville the envy 
of the beciu-monde. 

After this was accomplished, he felt that he had 
achieved a great deal, in a short space of time. 

And now, he must make the best of his way to 
Richmond ; first, however, taking care to pass the 
house which contained her who had thus inspired him; 
and, as he turned his eyes upon the abode, he was 
thinking that he might compare her to a diamond, 
enclosed in a case unfit to receive a gem of such value* 


140 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


He fancied that there was a peculiar appearance of 
desolation about the mansion, for the upper windows 
were closed. Little did he imagine, when, with a 
heart throbbing with joy and hope, he gazed upon it, 
that scenes of distress and sorrow were passing with- 
in its walls. 

Sir Francis proceeded on his country expedition. 
It was a visit of duty and interest, which he was 
obliged to pay about once a year, to an old aunt, 
who had declared her intention of making him her 
heir; and a clear ten thousand a year would, at her 
death, devolve into his already well-filled coffers. 
The old lady was very ill, and had sent for him ; or, 
probably, at this moment, Sir Francis would not have 
been in the mood to volunteer a visit to a sick room. 

When he arrived there, he found her extremely ill, 
so much so, that her death was instantly expected, 
and he remained, for some time, awaiting the event ; 
towards the afternoon, however, she rallied, and he 
was able to return, but with only a few moments left 
to dress for dinner, and repair to Belmont House. 

On reaching Hill Street, the porter placed in his 
hand a letter which, he said, had arrived almost im- 
mediately after Sir Francis had left the house that 
morning. It was from Lady Gertrude, and was writ- 
ten under the most painful agitation. 

She told him that Rosalie had been taken dreadful- 
ly ill, and added, that they were all so much shocked 
and overcome, that they did not feel equal to seeing 
any company at dinner that day. 

The letter almost fell from the hand of Sir Francis, 
so much did its contents surprise and discompose him. 
How little had he anticipated this frustration of the 
hopes, in which he had revelled with such delight ! 

Amidst all the vicissitudes of time and life, who has 
any title to reckon upon the future? At one period or 
another, it is certain, that the calm will be troubled 
and the dark cloud arise. No warnings of any ap- 
proaching disappointment had ever dimmed the lustre 
of the prospects of this man of prosperity and pleasure. 


THE YOUNG PRIM A DONNA. 


141 


He had always looked forward with a smile, and in- 
dulged in the hope that “ to-morrow shall be as this 
day, and even more abundantly.” 

’Tis thus we witness the progress of the thought- 
less — their folly and presumption — their pride and 
levity, which make for themselves a fantastic, imagi- 
ginary future; that, deluding them for awhile in vanity, 
too often terminates in misery ! 

All, hitherto, had flowed with an even course to Sir 
Francis. He was not accustomed to be thwarted, 
and his feelings now were of a mixed nature. He 
was not only distressed but disappointed. His an- 
noyance and unhappiness were not decreased by re- 
flection; and, when he thought of her — so brilliant — 
so beautiful ! stretched upon a bed of pain and sick- 
ness, his heart became softened, every fear augmented, 
and, in another moment, he rushed out of the house. 

First, he thought he would immediately go to Re- 
gent Street, there to gain some farther tidings of the 
sufferer; but, again he changed his mind, and, with 
hurried, and rapid steps, arrived at Belmont House, 
and, sending up an earnest petition to be admitted into 
the presence of Lady Gertrude, after a short delay, 
was ushered into her morning room. 

He found her in a most agitated state; and, truly, 
his sufferings at that moment almost equalled her 
own. 

The account she had to give him, was not calculated 
to compose his spirits; for, with tears of anguish, she 
informed him, that Lady Belmont had only just left 
Rosalie’s bed-side, and that although for the moment, _ 
she was rather better, the medical attendants spoke 
most desparingly of her situation. One could have 
hardly traced in the dejected man, who, with down- 
cast eyes and faltering steps, was seen to issue slowly 
from the splendid mansion, the gay, the thoughtless 
Baronet, who had ever, ere this moment of disappoint- 
ment, felt that he had all the world before him. 

But such is the transitory nature of our earthly 
hopes. Fondly, we project some favourite plan; w r e 


142 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


think that we have provided for all that may happen; 
that our measures have been taken with vigilant pru- 
dence ; and, on every side, we seem perfectly guarded 
and secure. But it is not so to be : some event hap- 
pens, unforeseen by our dim perceptions, which turns 
the whole course of things into a nCw direction, and 
blasts all our fondest wishes. 




CHAPTER XXII. 

Mr. Leslie had arrived at Regent Street. From 
the very strong affection which he entertained for the 
unfortunate girl, the agony of his feelings may be im- 
agined, when as he entered the house he was met by 
the woman Myrtilla, who without the slightest cau- 
tion announced to him the fatal opinion of the medical 
man. His first impulse was immediately to go to 
Rosalie; but he was told that she was at that moment 
sleeping ; therefore he went into the drawing room to 
await the time when she should awake; and there he 
found her miserable mother. 

It was indeed a sad interview. The work of death 
had proceeded with a very slow pace, although it had 
commenced its certain destruction on her frame; but 
as she herself expressed it, little had she anticipated 
that, with its fatal dart fixed in her own breast, she 
should still live on; and one so young — so fair — so 
blooming, should go before her. All she felt was not 
merely grief. That self-reproach which seemed al- 
ways to follow her with its upbraiding voice, was 
ever ringing in her ears. 

Her poor child! — in imagination she saw her glow- 
ing with all the hues of health — of happiness in the 
peaceful days of her childhood — and she had destroy- 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


143 


ed her prospects. It was through her means that she 
was brought even unto death; her sorrow was very 
heavy to bear, and the poor old man who sat beside 
her, had lost all power of bestowing one word of con- 
solation. He who, in his unselfish nature, ap- 
peared always to forget himself when others mourned, 
was now quite overwhelmed by his own deep misery; 
and down his withered cheeks flowed tears which he 
did not even attempt to restrain. 

The dear child whom he had loved so well ! Was 
it really true? — No, it could not be — and then a ray 
of hope darted across his mind. The physician would 
come, and, perhaps, he would unsay the cruel words. 
She must not die. It was out of nature that one so 
good — so sweet, should perish, and he the old, the 
useless, be left to mourn. 

“No,” he exclaimed rising rapidly, and pacing with 
hurried steps the floor ; “ they have exaggerated the 
case; that Italian woman always was deceitful, she 
always hated her. I cannot bear it. I must ascer- 
tain with my own eyes what is really the state of the 
case. Heaven grant that I may find it less dreadful.” 
And he left the room, and proceeded to the door of 
Rosalie’s chamber. But there he paused. A feeling 
of direful apprehension crept over his senses. 

“Oh merciful Heaven!” he exclaimed, “support 
me — strengthen me, to bear the agonizing sight of jpny 
blighted — prostrate flower. Oh! grant me the power 
still to be, as long as she remains here, the support, 
which it is my only consolation to think I have been, 
through all her troubles — sweet patient angel ! Let 
me still be the staff upon which she has so long — so 
fondly leant — and if it must be — ” and here with al- 
most frantic earnestness he struck his forehead — “oh! 
if she must die, let these arms be her last resting 
place.” 

And now he was about to enter, when the sound of 
a knock at the street door arrested his steps; It was 
most probably the physician, and he returned down 
stairs to meet him. Myrtilla at the same moment 


144 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


appeared from Rosalie’s room, saying that she was 
now awake, and Dr. C accompanied by the sur- 

geon proceeded to the sick chamber. 

Mr. Leslie did not follow them. He sat pale and 
motionless in the parlour, awaiting their return. It 
was a period of dreadful, awful suspense. The words 
which they would utter, on their return, would be as 
the blessed messenger of hope,, or the death blow to 
his happiness. The moments seemed hours. 

At length the door opened, and the medical men 
appeared. Mr. Leslie started, walked close up to 
the physician, with a frantic air, seized his hand, and 
looking earnestly in his countenance, as if he were 
perusing eagerly its every expression, he exclaimed, 
“I see it all — there is little, little hope.” 

And truly the physician looked grave and sad ; for 
although his professional eye was familiar with scenes 
of death and distress, he was a man of a kind and 
humane disposition, and the touching scene which he 
had just quitted interested him deeply. The brilliant 
cantairice who had been the theme of universal con- 
versation — whose matchless perfections were poured 
forth from every lip — the courted — the admired — the 
star of splendour — the present idol of the London 
world — how changed had he found her — but still how 
lovely! — even though the shades of death w r ere gather- 
ing round her. 

And then her patient sweetness — her resignation! 
There is certainly a feeling of romance, which hovers 
over our ideas when we dwell upon the character of 
an actress; a something which always seems to place 
it beyond the realities of life. At the moment when 
our heroine was thus suddenly snatched from the ad- 
miring gaze of thousands who worshiped her, almost 
as a divinity, she was at the very pinnacle of her 
success; therefore it was with. a peculiar sensation of 
anxiety mingled with curiosity, that for the first time, 
the eminent practitioner looked upon this fair emblem 
of the transitory brilliancy, even of the most beautiful 
of nature’s workmanship. 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


145 


It was impressed with these saddening reflections, 
ind after consulting for some lime with the surgeon' 
’hat he appeared before the heart-stricken old man' 
^hose only slender hope hung upon the decision he’ 
.vas about to utter; and on being thus with such in- 
ense anxiety accosted by him, and perceiving his 
barful agitation; he paused; he was reluctant to say 
>vhat he foresaw would occasion so much misery. 

Mr. Leslie continued, “ At once tell me the truth 
will she — must she die?” 

The physician answered, “My good sir, calm your- 
self; you are not in a state to hear any agitalingmtel- 
igence.” 

Mr. Leslie replied impatiently, “I never shall be 
more fit for the blow than at this moment, therefore 
ell me at once — do you consider her case desperate?” 
The doctor shook his head. 

/* She may perhaps rally,” he said; “ but, my dear 
Sir, grieved am I to add, that I fear it will be but for 
a brief space. 

Mr. Leslie said no 'more. He attempted to walk 
towards the door, but he would have fallen, had he 
not been supported by the medical gentlemen. The 
shock was too great for his shattered nerves — he had 
fainted away; and when, after a time, he slowly re- 
covered, he was so weak — so exhausted, that he had 
not the strength to sustain the trial of seeing Rosalie 
for many hours. 

But there was one, already seated by her couch, 
who was administering words of peace — of com- 
fort to the sinking girl. Lady Belmont had arrived, 
and instantly made her way into the apartment of the 
invalid. The physician had desired that Rosalie might 
speak as little as possible, and be kept quite tranquil 
and easy. Lady Belmont soon perceived that she 
could not be composed, until her mind had been re- 
lieved. There was a kind of restlessness about her 
eyes — a convulsive earnestness, with which she pressed 
the lady’s hand, and looked into her face; which told 
VOL. il — 13 


146 


THE YOUNG FRIMA DONNA. 


a tale of mental agitation, unconnected with bodily 
suffering. 

Lady Belmont’s great desire was to relieve her 
from the load, which she knew weighed so heavily 
upon her heart. She had heard from the lips of the 
medical man, the dread fiat — that she was to die. 
She might linger a short time ; but any fresh haemor- 
rage from the lungs, might prove instantly fatal. The 
Marchioness hesitated how to act. She dreaded the 
effects of agitating her; and yet so well did she un- 
derstand the feelings of Rosalie, that she was certain 
nothing would so effectually calm the irritation, which 
amounted almost to agony, as a few words from her- 
self. 

She saw her painfully anxious countenance — her 
eye of inquiry, which wandered ever and anon to- 
wards the door, as if she were expecting something; 
therefore, she determined to hazard the point, in order 
that she might breathe the sweet influence of peace — 
of consolation to her spirit, which might shed bright- 
ness over the darkening shades, that were encom- 
passing her. Whispering to Johnson to leave the 
room, she again sat down by the side of the bed, and 
taking the hand of Rosalie within her own, in the 
tenderest accents, said, “ My sweet girl, I know that 
your mind is not at rest, but be calm — be happy. I 
know all. Filz-Ernest has told me every thing ; 
and what I have heard, makes me love you more than 
ever.” 

A brilliant gleam of colour passed over the pale 
cheeks of the sick girl. 

“ Rosalie,” continued Lady Belmont, “dear excel- 
lent Rosalie, it would be impossible for me to express 
the admiration I feel, when I think of your conduct. 
You have ensured my gratitude, for you have saved 
my son. Your words have struck upon his ear, like 
the notes of prophecy ; they awakened him from his 
dream— his delusion, and through your medium our 
dearest hopes may yet be realized. Promise me to 
be quite calm, not to allow any agitation to excite you, 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


H7 


and I will tell you all without any reserve. You do 
indeed merit my strictest confidence. Let me see, by 
your countenance, sweetest, that 1 may venture to 
say all.” 

Rosalie looked into the face of her benefactress and 
smiled, and in that smile were mingled many expres- 
sions ; but it gave Lady Belmont the assurance, that 
she might continue her relation, without fear of doing 
the listener any injury. 

“ R is Fitz-Ernest’s anxious request, that I should 
express to you his deep contrition, for the suffering 
which he has caused. Torturing, indeed, are his 
feelings; as self-accusation renders them doubly in- 
supportable ; and, indeed it is dreadful, not only to 
himself, but to me, when the horrid idea presents it- 
self, that he caused this sad catastrophe — your pre- 
sent sufferings.” 

But Rosalie shook her head emphatically. “No, 
no, in mercy say not so, the disease had long rankled 
here — the storm, long gathering, was ready to burst.” 

Lady Belmont implored her to be silent, and con- 
tinued : 

. “ As long as my son lives, he can never quite for- 
give himself; but be comforted, dearest,” she added, 
as she saw the large tears roll slowly from the half 
closed eyes of the pale girl; “ the very pang, that the 
remembrance will inflict, may bring with it blessed — 
salutary effects — may act for ever, as a check to those 
impetuous passions, which have been the cause of so 
much evil. His future excellence— nay, even his fu- 
ture happiness, may both derive their source from the 
blessed remembrance of his virtuous young friend.” t 

Here Rosalie clasped her hands, and devoutly cast 
her eyes towards Heaven. Her lips appeared to move’ 
as if she were inwardly ejaculating a prayer of thanks- . 
giving. 

“ Every word you uttered — every wish you ex- 
pressed, he bids me tell you will be sacred to him. At 
this moment, his mind is too much occupied by wha^ 


148 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


you suffer, for us to expect any thing from him but 
grief ; but he desires me to say that, in time, he may 
hope to accomplish all that you wish — all that we, his 
parents, have hoped so long — so anxiously. Bless 
you, we must ever, Rosalie — even honour your me- 
mory, should it be the Almighty’s will to remove you 
from us.” 

What lustre brightened the beautiful eyes of our 
heroine ! She raised the hand which she still fondly 
held within her own, to her lips, and faintly murmur- 
ed — “ Happy — happy so to die,” and then she closed 
her eyes, and turned her head upon the pillow; and 
Lady Belmont, hoping that she might sleep, arranged 
the bed-clothes, so as to ensure her more ease, and 
begged of her to try to take some repose. Rosalie 
looked her acquiescence ; still she sought the hand of 
her friend as if she feared to lose her. But on Lady 
Belmont’s assurance that she would stay, she endea- 
voured to calm herself to rest. 


— < » « & «<«.— 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

After the rencontre, the result of which was so 
unfortunate, Arturo, his heart filled with passions 
which changed his whole nature, with frantic steps 
rushed forward. He neither saw nor heard. Furi- 
ously he pursued his way, causing the bystanders to 
turn round and look after him with dismay ; but when 
he found himself at length in the noisy streets, he sud- 
denly paused. He pressed his hands across his eyes 
for a moment or two as if deliberating, and again 
walked rapidly forward. 

But now he seemed to have some object in view, 
for he looked anxiously into all the shops that he pass- 


the young prima donna. 


I4t? 

ed. With swift steps he walked down Piccadilly, and 
then crossing into St. James’ Street, entered a naval 
and military accoutrement maker’s, at the windows of 
which were displayed to view, swords and various 
other weapons of slaughter. 

He motioned with his hand, for he could hardly 
speak English, that he wished to look at some dirks 
which attracted his attention. He selected one 
amongst the smallest, but before he completed his pur- 
chase, was observed by the shopman to draw it from 
the scabbard, and attentively examine the point ; there 
was something in the wildness of his looks, and the 
fierce gleam of satisfaction with which he ascertained 
the sharpness of the blade, which made a vivid im- 
pression on the mind of the person who served him; 
and after he had left the shop, he remarked the cir- 
cumstance, to one of his companions, saying at the 
same time — “ Well, if that dagger is not the cause of 
bloodshed, I shall never again pretend to judge of a 
man’s countenance.” 

On leaving the shop, Arturo placed the weapon in 
his bosom, and with a ghastly smile of triumph, pro- 
ceeded on his way ; but it was with a calmer and 
slower step. 

Arrived at his lodgings, and in his own apartment, 
he again drew out his dagger, looked at it with delight, 
hugged it to his heart, and clasped his hands in ecsta- 
sy. Bruno, who had entered the room and watched 
him unperceived, said that during all these demonstra- 
tions of satisfaction, there was gleaming from his dark 
eye that which absolutely appalled him. It was like 
the glance of an infuriated tiger, when about to devour 
the prey which was already within its grasp. 

On seeing Bruno, he suddenly concealed the wea- 
pon, and commanding himself by a strong effort, be- 
gan to speak on indifferent subjects, in a voice which he 
endeavoured to render steady; at the usual hour, he 
accompanied him to the Opera, and except from a 
restlessness in his eye, he should not have remarked 
that any thing: had gone wrong with him. During the 
* ~ 13* 


150 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


performance, Mr. Leslie afterwards well remembered 
thinking there was something very extraordinary in 
his conduct and bearing, and he had mentioned it to 
Rosalie. 

At one moment, he was sullen and abstracted, at 
the next, a burst of gaiety and wildness startled them. 
But Arturo had been so much changed of late, that it 
did not cause the feeling of alarm and surprise, which it 
might otherwise have done. They had become, in a 
measure, accustomed to the variableness of his tem- 
per. Mr. Leslie observed to some one, his attitude 
of watchfulness, as he stood with his head slightly in- 
clined forwards, his large eyes open to their° full ex- 
tent, and fixed with such earnestness upon one particu- 
lar spot. He was heard to mutter to himself, by an- 
other person who happened to be near him— “ PercU 
non viene? Perche si diferisce Vistanie della mia 
gioyct, quel che ho tatito sospiratoP* 

The truth of this dreadful story is, that Arturo was 
awaiting the arnval of Sir Francis; but owing to the 
Baronet s imperative engagement at St. James’s, mv 
readers are already aware that he did not visit the 

w t ,h fi Dlg ^'i ArtUro lm § ered ^ the last, watch- 
ng, with fiend-like eagerness, his approach; and at 

last, finding that he did not come, with reluctant steps 

between his 

The next morning that ensued brought with it— nh 

21: z„: -«««„, 

soften his better feelings? Did tears of anlii , . th L ’ 
such a disclosure tnusf have w^g f o“ ? h m ’ a" 'as 
healing unction to his diseased minH? w u ^ ct 
mercy it had wrought * bfef etS^'o" 

That moment for wli'idTTlhirsf'' 1 '^ ' S moment °f j°y retarded? 

t It is but deferred. 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


151 


the Almighty., in his inscrutable wisdom, had willed it 
otherwise; and destined him to be a sacrifice and an 
example to those around — to caution youth to bridle 
their impetuous passions, before they deface what is 
lovely, and transform what might be good and ex- 
cellent, into the very semblance of a fiend of darkness. 
May it be a warning to all. 

Think not because your passions have not, as yet, 
hurried you into atrocious deeds, that you may still 
indulge in them. Habit gives the passions strength, 
whilst the absence of glaring guilt seemingly justifies 
them; and, unawakened by remorse, the unfortunate 
wretch proceeds in his fatal course, till he becomes 
bold in guilt, and ripe for ruin. 

Arturo, the highly-gifted — the young — the beauti- 
ful, was now — and shuddering nature turns sicken- 
ing from the knowledge — become the blood-thirsty 
wretch, gasping for revenge, which nothing but the 
life of his enemy could satiate. The infernal fire had 
kindled within him — the worm that never dies was 
gnawing at his heart. 

On repairing to Gabrielli’s house at the usual hour, 
the fact of Rosalie’s illness w'as suddenly communi- 
cated to him. Had he not been in a most unnatural 
state, this intelligence wmuld at once have almost en- 
tirely annihilated him. But now the only effect pro- 
duced was a sort of stunned feeling. The already 
fearfully dilated pupils of his eyes gave to his counte- 
nance an expression nearly of vacancy. Ho seemed 
as if hardened into stone. 

Having stood for some time leaning against the 
W'all motionless, he started up, and flew out of the 
house, saying in a low hollow voice, “ She will be 
gone,” and then almost an air of exultation crossed 
his countenance, “ at least,” and he clenched his teeth, 
“ she cran never be his nor mine,” he added, and a 
sort of stifled cry escaped his lips, as if at that mo- 
ment a dart had pierced his heart; he then rushed im- 
petuously into the street. 

But never for a moment, during that day, did his 


152 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


steps lead him more than a few paces from the door. 
He might be seen walking hurriedly to and fro 
without any intermission. during the long and weary 
hours. 

Every time the door opened, he looked into the 
countenances of those who came out, with an air of 
eagerness which spoke for itself; but he dared not 
trust his tongue to ask the question, “ how is she?” 

His haggard worn look — the frightful paleness of 
his cheeks, attracted the attention of every one ; and 
the passers by shrunk from his glance, for his appear- 
ance was that of a maniac. 

The shades of evening were beginning to encom- 
pass every object. The brightness of the morning 
was followed by gloom, a violent thunder storm 
had ensued, and the rain now poured in torrents. 
But still Arturo was at his post. Little did he heed 
the drenching wet which must long ere this have pe- 
netrated through his garments. No doubt the dis- 
turbed movements of the elements harmonized with 
the gloomy nature of his soul. They were more 
soothing than the most brilliant sunshine, which at 
this moment would have been like mockery to his 
distempered imagination. Welcome were darkness 
and desolation, for how could there be light, when 
she, the fairest of nature’s creation, was drooping — 
dying? 

He hailed the night, it would shut from his sight 
every object, and leave him alone with his sorrow. 
Once when the door opened, a softened feeling almost 
prompted him again to enter — to endeavour once 
more to obtain a look — only once more — of her whom 
he thus mourned; for with the direful feelings which 
possessed his soul, the deed of darkness which he 
planned to commit, he felt was about to place an eter- 
nal barrier between them. 

“ In Heaven thou wilt be,” he cried, “ where I can 
never enter; but it must be so, the Almighty has 
averted his eye from me, I feel that I am left to my- 
self — alone and. defenceless, to wrestle with, the pow- 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


153 


ers of perdition. They have taken possession of me 
— their chains are about me, I am a doomed wretch, 
nothing will satisfy their unsalable appetites but my 
ruin. I feel that I am undone.” 

“ But then again,” and a ray of light seemed to 
break upon his soul, “ if I could but look upon her 
angelic countenance once more — that face which 
breathes of Heaven, perhaps still I might be saved; 
the demons would not presume to gnaw at my heart 
in her presence; I might again be allowed to hope — 
to anticipate — not happiness here — that is utterly im- 
possible, but that hope, which her sweet voice so 
often whispered in my ear, might still be left to me, 
to smooth the path to my grave.” 

Influenced by these soothing thoughts, he took some 
steps as if about to enter; but his progress was sud- 
denly arrested, by some one rushing impatiently past, 
and on turning to see who it was that thus rudely 
passed, by him, his eye fell upon a countenance, which 
turned, as it were, his heart into a ball of fire. 

'*V‘ Ah !” he cried in a harsh sharp voice, and his 
hand plunged into his breast as if seeking for some- 
thing; but the intruder, who was no other than Sir 
Francis Somerville, too much occupied with his own 
reflections, heeded him not; in a moment he dis- 
appeared from his sight, and the door was shut upon 
him. 

It did, indeed, seem as if the Almighty had with- 
drawn his protection from this unhappy young man, 
as if a dark cloud had shut him from his sight. To 
our blind eyes how unscrutable are the ways of Pro- 
vidence. In vain do we attempt to explore its myste- 
ries. “ It would be as easy to sound an unfathomable 
deep with a scanty line, or with a feeble wing to 
ascend above the stars.” We must submit, there- 
fore, to mystery and darkness, in the course of every 
event, and instead of repining at the obscurity which 
envelopes many of the dispensations of Providence, 
it is our part to bow with resignation, and still to 
adore. 


J54 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


At the moment Sir Francis appeared, a change 
had come over the spirit of the young Italian; ano- 
ther instant, and he might have been in the presence 
of Mr. Leslie. Perchance he might have been al- 
lowed to behold the sainted being, from whom he 
could not have departed with a heart inclined to sin; 
for she would have spoken to him, and every word 
that fell from her lips, would have acted like balm 
to his agony. 

She would have said much to comfort him, she 
would have told him that she only went a brief space 
before him ; that if he loved her they might meet 
again; she would have implored him to seek that me- 
diation, by which alone this hope might be realized. 
Oh 1 had the arrival of Sir Francis been retarded, 
what dreadful consequences might have been pre- 
vented! But it was otherwise ordained. The wretched 
Arturo was destined to be the instrument, in the hand 
of the All-wise, to testify his fearful power — his awful 
will ! 

Rosalie, as she lay in a perfect state of tranquillity, 
totally free from pain, but hourly becoming weaker, 
although she closed her eyes, did not sleep; busy me- 
mory gave full employment to her thoughts. By 
turns, all those she loved so well, were dwelt upon 
with deep solicitude ; and Arturo’s image presented 
itself most anxiously to her mind. 

She thought of him with all his excitable feelings ; 
she sickened at the idea of his sufferings on her own 
account ; and turning to Johnson faintly whispered his 
name, asking whether he had heard of her illness, and 
how he bore the intelligence; she then earnestly re- 
quested that when he called she might be informed 
of it. 

Had Arturo only known this — but he was now left 
to himself, his detested rival had appeared before him 
— had impeded his progress — had shut the very door 
upon him; and there he stood — transfixed — the furies 
had again seized upon his heart, his hand clutched his 
dagger, the dreadful deed was about to be done. The 


THE YOUNG PEIMA DONNA. 


155 


rising moon, which had struggled through the clouds 
and shone for a few moments brightly over the spot, 
was again obscured. A dark mass of vapour floated 
over it and shrouded its light; as if unwilling that its 
pure radiance should illumine a scene of blood and 
horror. 




CHAPTER XXIV. 

Sir Francis, on entering the house, earnestly re- 
quested to see Mr. Leslie, and was soon ushered into 
his presence. He was received at first with a degree 
of coldness, but the reserve of the good old man’s man- 
ner, rapidly melted away, when he saw the real dis- 
tress and agitation of his unexpected visiter. 

He had, however, little to say, which* could lessen 
his axiety. Mr. Leslie’s own spirits were sunk to the 
lowest ebb. Hope had totally withdrawn its support, 
and to all the impatient inquiries of the Baronet, his only 
answer was a desponding shake of the head, whilst, 
at the same time, tears coursed each other down his 
withered cheeks. 

Sir Francis, with all the impatience of his nature, 
was dissatisfied. He would not believe the extent of 
the evil. He thought that from others he might gain 
less gloomy intelligence. The old man exaggerated — 
Myrtilla would be more satisfactory — and he begged 
to see her, but her account did not revive him. The 
only improvement in the detail was, that Rosalie at 
that moment was calm and tranquil. Some hours of 
rest and cessation from cough might be productive of 
a good effect ; but she also shook her head, and was 
any thing but sanguine in her hopes, as was too evi- 
dent from her disturbed countenance. 

On being again left alone with Mr. Leslie, in un- 


156 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


feigned distress, he hastily approached him, and seizing 
his°hand, he exclaimed, “ You little know what I suf- 
fer — this day, which has terminated so fatally, I ex- 
pected would have been the happiest of my life. l r ou 
look surprised, but so it is ; and 1 now tell you that, 
sanctioned by my cousin, Lady Gertrude, I had in- 
tended this very evening, to offer to your protegee my 
hand and heart. I believe it would have been in my 
power to have added to her future happiness — to have 
gilded her days with joy and gladness. Prosperity 
would have been her portion ; and now what a change ! 
the blossom of hope is blasted, and the expectation, 
which promised such unbroken harmony, is left to 
perish. I can scarcely bear the idea, it is so sudden 
— so dreadful. But has every thing been done ? Let 
me send for some more medical advice,” he cried 
hastily rising, “ what are two opinions in such a case! 
— I must insist upon having more. When are the 
doctors to be here again !” Mr. Leslie mentioned the 
hour. 

“ Then I shall send my own physician to meet 
them.” 

And so earnest and anxious was his manner, that 
Mr. Leslie had not the heart to contradict him ; and 
his evident wretchedness was so great, that his de- 
parture would be a relief to him ; for overwhelmed 
as he was by his own sorrow, he was 4n no state to 
listen to the vehement exclamations of the disap- 
pointed lover. 

Little did this excellent man imagine, when with a 
sigh of regret, he watched the retreating figure of 
this splendid looking young man, whose noble bear- 
ing and exraordinary attractions, were, perhaps al- 
most unrivalled, and who had just evinced feelings, 
which inspired his auditor with a very improved opi- 
nion of his heart; little indeed did he think, when 
the door closed, and shut from his view the tall aris- 
tocratic form — so erect — so commanding— that in 
another moment, Mhe hand of an assassin would pros- 


THS YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


J57 


trate to the earth, one, whose looks seemed to defy 
adversity. 

Mr. Leslie had sunk back into his chair, his mind 
filled with the recollection of the scene, that had just 
passed before him. He was thinking upon the transi- 
tory, the unstable nature of the hopes and expecta- 
tions, of even the most prosperous, when his ear was 
struck by a sound that startled him with horror. 

It was* a shriek of agony ! His mind, full of the 
idea of Rosalie, immediately fixed upon her, as the 
cause of this fearful exclamation. In an instant he 
had rushed to the landing place, and was about to as- 
cend the steps, which led to the sick chamber, when 
another sound broke upon his senses, and he at once 
knew that it proceeded from the lower part of the 
house. He found that the other inmates of the dwell- 
ing alarmed by the same noise, were hastening to- 
wards the street door, from whence the appalling cries 
issued. 

Mr. Leslie, impelled by anxiety to learn the cause, 
hurried also towards the spot; what a scene met his 
eye ! — Gabrielli was kneeling, and supporting in his 
arms the form of a man. He rushed forward ; with 
a feeling almost of desperation, he looked upon the 
countenance, and beheld, oh spectacle of wo ! one 
who appeared to be a ghastly corpse, from whose 
breast was pouring the life blood; and this dreadful 
image of a murdered man, was he, who had, a few 
moments since, stood before him, animation sparkling 
from his now closed eyes, every pulse beating with 
life, with health, in the very pride of strength and 
vouthful manhood; now he beheld him bleeding, pros- 
trate, like the magnificent oak, that a brief space be- 
fore had reared its stately head above all its com- 
panions of the forest, and in the next moment was 
levelled to the earth, by the restless blast of the tem- 
pest, there to lie prostrate— motionless— but magnifi- 
cent even in its fallen state. Oh! it was a sight of 
sadness— of distraction ; and Mr. Leslie looked upon 
it with the glazed eye of horror. 
vol. ii. — 14 


158 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


Who could have done this deed of darkness? was 
now the general exclamation. A mob was rapidly 
collecting, and became every moment more and more 
excited, as the story spread, and the spectacle of de- 
struction was witnessed. 

The cry was becoming fierce and loud for the mur- 
derer. No one had been seen to escape from the 
spot. In the mean time the apparently lifeless body 
of Sir Francis was gently raised, in order to be car- 
ried into the parlour, there to await the arrival of the 
surgeon. 

Mr. Leslie stood by it, but it was not to offer any 
assistance; with hands clasped firmly together, his 
eye fixed immoveably on the ghastly object before 
him, with an expression of horror and despair strong- 
ly marked upon his countenance, he seemed as if he 
were suddenly transformed into stone. 

The persons who assisted in removing Sir Francis, 
were obliged to speak to him several times, to re- 
quest that he would give them room to pass; but he 
appeared to hear them not for some time, and after fre- 
quent attempts on their part, to command his atten- 
tion, he started violently, then lifted up his eyes ; and 
it was so ordained, that they were to rest at once 
upon the murderer — those eyes that had never looked 
upon him, but with kindness, were now destined to 
denounce the wretched youth, who had so long been 
fostered by the genial ray of benevolence and love, 
which till now had shone so brightly upon him. 

The moon which had before hid its light behind 
the dark cloud, now shone forth with a radiance 
which illuminated every object; and as if heaven di- 
rected, shot its rays full upon the figure of a man, 
who stood leaning against the iron railings. His 
arms were folded, and had not his eyes been open, 
and that their expression told a tale of horror, from 
the livid paleness of his countenance, he might have 
been imagined to be in a state of insensibility ; so 
perfectly motionless did he appear. 

• Mr. Leslie stood gazing upon him, as if fascinated 


THE YOUNG TRIMA DONNA. 


159 


by the fatal glare of the rattle snake. He could not 
remove his eyes, and as he gazed, a cry of agony 
burst from his lips, which attracted the attention of 
all those who stood around him. They followed the 
direction of his glance — they saw the object which had 
thus moved him, for in one of the hands of the im- 
moveable figure, there gleamed a dagger, and the 
hand which held it was red with blood. 

The unhappy old man, seemingly almost distracted, 
shrieked aloud a name, and the tone of his voice 
thrilled through the hearts of all who heard him. In 
another moment, he had fallen down in a state al- 
most as death-like, as that of the other lifeless form; 
then, with one accord, every eye turned toward the 
miserable Arturo, who evinced no sign of conscious- 
ness, and the truth flashed upon all. He was the as- 
sassin ! his hand had done the atrocious deed! A 
yell of execration passed from every lip, and the in- 
furiated mob, ever rapid and summary in its impulses, 
rushed towards him, and instant vengeance did they 
long to reak upon one so vile. He would have been 
torn to pieces, had not a band of constables arrived 
and rescued him, that he might be delivered into the 
hands of justice; passively, without the slightest show 
of resistance, did the miserable youth resign himself 
into their power. Indeed, the expression of his coun- 
tenance changed not. His eyes were fixed — his teeth 
were clenched. It was only when the officers of jus- 
tice desired him to give up the dagger, that he evinced 
any sign of consciousness. He then shook his head 
impetuously, and made a movement to plunge it in 
his bosom; on its being forcibly wrenched from his 
grasp, he became violent; it was with some difficulty 
that he was overpowered by numbers, and at last 
placed in a hackney-coach, and conveyed to a place 
of confinement, where he was strongly ironed. The 
next morning, when he was visited in his cell, in or- 
der to be brought before the magistrates, he was dis- 
covered to be in a state too dreadful for description. 
He was a raving maniac! 


160 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


In the mean time, Sir Francis was placed upon 
some bedding on the floor of the parlour, and in the 
shortest possible period, medical advice of every de- 
scription was crowding round him. Soon it was as- 
certained, that although most desperately and danger- 
ously wounded, life was not extinct; and as Mr. Les- 
lie, after a lengthened period of insensibility, opened 
his eyes, and cast an agonizing look of inquiry around, 
he was told that Sir Francis was not dead. At these 
words, the old man had strength to raise himself upon 
his knees, and lifting up his hands, he whispered the 
words, “ Thank Heaven! thank Heaven!” 




CHAPTER XXV. 

It is hardly necessary to say how universal were 
the interest, sympathy, and curiosity, with which the 
crowded London world received the information of 
these accumulated catastrophes; and with what avid- 
ity every ear drank in the numerous and varied re- 
ports which w’ere floating in all directions, each bear- 
ing a different character, and increasing, if possible, 
in horror at every new relation. It was the theme 
of every tongue — nothing else was talked of. The 
story became the most romantic of romances, and 
certainly in the tale there was much of the reality of 
romance. The beautiful and talented cantalrice who 
stood, as it were, a moment before, in all the radiance 
of genius and loveliness, in the presence of an ad- 
miring public, had now vanished for ever from their 
sight. She would now be only as the dream of form- 
er bliss — bright, but evanescent — sparkling but for a 
moment, like the pure dew of the morning, too soon 
exhaled. 

And then. Sir Francis Somerville! The prosperous 


thet young puima donna. 


161 


--the courted — the envied ; what a fate was his f 
lying in a state of hopelessness — murdered by the hand 
of'the Italian youth, who had been the envy of all the 
male creation in London, from his personal attrac- 
tions, which had also ensured for him the admiration 
of every female heart. 

It was a dark, a horrid story; but a love for the 
marvellous beats strongly in the hearts of us all, that 
feeling mingled strangely with those of commiseration 
in the present instance; and the ever-thronged street 
which was the scene of all this tragedy, was more 
than ever resorted to. There was a kind of excite- 
ment and interest, even to look upon the windows of 
the house which contained the two sufferers — for Sir 
Francis was not able to be moved from the spot 
where first he was laid; and it was with no slight de- 
gree of difficulty, that several of his servants at the 
door, aided by peace officers, could prevent the crowd 
of impatient and curious inquirers approaching too 
near, so anxious were they to enter, in order that 
they might feast their eyes upon the place, which had 
been the scene of so many horrors. Deep beds of 
straw had been strewn along the street, and constables 
had been stationed to keep order, and maintain as 
much tranquillity as possible. So intense is the feel- 
ing, which the marvellous creates in the mind, that 
there is but very little doubt that every class, more or 
less, is swayed by its influence; I believe it to be a fact 
that more carriages passed down Regent Street the 
day succeeding this calamity, than were ever known 
before to resort to it; and many were the fair counte- 
nances who gazed upon the closed shutters of ibis’ 
house of wo. 

Extraordinary to say, during all the noise and con- 
fusion occasioned by the appalling events of the pre- 
ceding day, Rosalie remained undisturbed. A strong 
opiate that had been administered, caused her to fall 
into a deep and refreshing sleep; after many hours of 
uninterrupted slumber, she awoke, calm and com- 
posed ; and, in her hopeless state, was, perhaps, the. 


THE VOUNG PRIM A DONNA. 


162 

ontv one amongst her friends and those who surround- 
ed her, who was tranquil, and even cheerfuL As the 
bnaht summer sun shone into her chamber, there was 
something almost of gladness in her tone of voice, as 
she whispered to Johnson: “Send Mr. Leslie to me, 
he will rejoice to see me better.” 

But how could the poor old man present himselt to 
her at that moment? His night of suffering had been 
unbroken by any slumber ; and as the morning light 
dawned upon him, one might have imagined, from the 
appearance of his shattered frame, that in those few 
hours of intense misery, he had advanced at least 
twenty years in age. He had ever before this period 
borne his years bravely — scarcely had he looked so 
near the age of man; this morning found him, indeed, 
the withered, bent old man. Almost paralized seem- 
ed his limbs — his hands shook as if with palsy, and 
his eyes had no longer power to restrain the tears 
which would ever and anon gather in them. 

His was a most enthusiastic temperament, and he 
had placed his warmest affections upon two young 
beings; the interest he felt in their welfare had given 
a buoyancy to his feelings; he was no longer old 
whilst he thought of them, and followed their young 
ideas. Indeed, he had a peculiar feeling of regard 
for all young people, and this feeling in itself seemed 
to preserve the freshness of his own ideas. But now, 
how crushed were all his hopes — his affections! The 
two blossoms whose opening beauties he had so long 
tenderly watched, and with his own hand nurtured,, 
were now, how cruelly blighted! The one fair flow- 
er laid low by the all-wise hand of heaven; the other 
— and he shuddered again and again, when the hor- 
rid history recurred to his mind. He must have been 
forsaken by the Almighty — delivered by his own furi- 
ous passions into the power of the prince of darkness. 
And this wretched youth was now consigned to the 
hands of keepers, raging with madness, whilst at the 
same time, a fever burnt in his veins, which threat- 


THU YOUNG IMHMA DONNA. 


163 


ened soon to terminate his miserable existence. Oh 
what a tale of wo — of despair! 

Suffering under such a load of grief, how could Mr. 
Leslie present himself before Rosalie? Johnson scarce- 
ly knew how to act, or what to say. The poor wo- 
man was half bewildered by all the agonizing events 
that had happened. She could only at last stammer 
forth that Mr. Leslie was in bed; and leaving her for 
a moment under the charge of an attendant, she 
sought the afflicted man, in order to deliver to him 
the message, in hopes that it would rouse him from 
the stupor of grief, into which he had fallen. She 
told him the words of Rosalie, and implored him to 
take some repose, in order that he might again be of 
use to his beloved protegee. 

But he could not be prevailed upon to move until 
he had seen Lady Belmont, who was every moment 
expected. 

What a scene did the interior of this abode present 
to our excellent Marchioness! What a house of de- 
solation did she enter? Death and horror on all sides. 
As she approached leaning on the arm of the Mar- 
quis, the agitation of both was painful to behold? 

It was the son of Lord Belmont’s own sister who 
there lay almost a murdered corpse. 

The Belmonts had ever been a prosperous family. 
They had never possessed an intimate acquaintance 
with grief, therefore, perhaps, although prosperity iiad 
not hardened their hearts — want of experience in the 
uses of adversity, had rendered the shock which now 
burst upon them, more stunning from its unexpected 
nature. It is difficult to bow the head at once to the 
adverse strokes of fate. 

Sir Francis had not yet spoken. The surgeons had 
not again examined the wound; but from the state of 
his pulse, the exhaustion was very frightful, and lit- 
tle comfort could they give. 

But still while there is life, human nature is in- 
clined to cling tenaciously to hope; and as Lord Bel- 
mont looked down upon the noble form of this splen- 


164 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


did specimen of manly beauty, he could not help think- 
ing that it was sad, as well as extraordinary, that one 
blow should fell him so completely to the earth. 

We will, however, pass over the lapse of a few 
days. It is of no use detailing the weary moments of 
the leaden hours that pass during the first period of 
dangerous sickness. 

A week had nearly closed, and still Sir Francis 
lived; but so ill — so exhausted, that instead of re- 
clining on the silken couch in his own sumptuous man- 
sion, he lay supported by mattresses, on the floor of 
the shabby parlour in Gabrielli’s house. He was too 
ill to say much, but there was in his countenance and 
demeanour, that which interested all those around 
him; — a submissive humility, little expected from the 
hitherto proud, arrogant Baronet. In the solitude of 
the sick room, the awful change which had succeeded 
the feverish excitement of his former existence, and 
as if by heavenly inspiration, a new train of thoughts, 
far better thoughts, seemed to have banished the ideas 
that had formerly occupied his mind. 

He felt convinced that he must die, and death with 
all its horrors, was for the first time stedfastly con- 
templated by him. It was, indeed, an awful object, 
surrounded by hopeless misery, and at the very idea 
his fever increased — his agitation how dreadful was it 
to bear! 

And then by chance his eye fell on the pale spectre 
of the old man, who was almost always kneeling, and 
praying by his low couch; and he whispered to him, 
“ If 1 die, is there no possibility of my being saved V 
Can there be mercy for one who has lived such a life 
as mine has been? a life of sin- — of dissipation — of 
total recklessness — discarding every thought, every 
feeling, but that which tended to increase my plea- 
sures. My whole career has been one of selfish gra- 
tification — and if — if there be a hereafter, what will 
that existence be to me? if nothing but that which is 
clean can enter heaven, its doors must ever be shut 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 165 

against a man of the world — at least — the world in 
which I have lived.” 

Mr. Leslie spoke, and his words were indeed like 
oil and wine poured into the wounds of his tortured 
spirit. They were as a living spring, purifying his 
heart, and diffusing comfort and refreshment to it. It 
was, indeed, a touching spectacle, which, could it 
have been revealed to the eye of the gay associates 
of the suffering penitent, might have proved a salutary 
lesson to many — might have suggested to those who 
were at the giddy height of enjoyment, that they too 
might fall from this pinnacle of pleasure — that too 
often “the end of mirth is heaviness;” and whilst 
every joy seems sweet to the taste, its effects are poi- 
soning and undermining every hope. 

How would it have astonished them, to behold their 
former companion with all his external advantages — 
his wealth— his station, humbled to the dust; with no 
other comfort left him, but clinging with anxious trust 
to the words of religious consolation, which flowed 
from the lips of the venerable clergyman, whom he 
scarcely permitted to leave his side. Like fhe rich 
man in the parable of Lazarus, gladly would he now 
have exchanged all his possessions, not for one drop 
of water, but for one ray of hope to illumine the dark 
view of the future. 

Mr. Leslie seemed to have no other consolation re- 
maining, but to endeavour to strengthen and improve 
the faith of the sufferer, and his pious exertions were 
not thrown away. By decrees a calm succeeded to 
the turbulent emotions, which before so fearfully shook 
his frame. Religious hope had brought from Heaven 
the olive branch. She carried in her hand the signal 
of mercy. Devotion had opened to him its holy and 
blessed sanctuary, that sanctuary in which the wound- 
ed heart is healed, and the weary mind is set at rest 
— where the cries of the world are forgotten — where 
its tumults are hushed, and its miseries disappear — 
where greater objects open to our view than those the 
world presents — where a more serene sky shines, and 


166 


THE YOUNG PRIM A DONNA. 


a sweeter and calmer light, beams upon the afflicted 
heart. Such a prospect may, irideed, cheer the dark- 
est hours of life, and afford a solace even in agonizing 
pain. 

The calmed state of his mind, had a powerful in- 
fluence over the bodily sufferings of the invalid, and 
although the medical attendants dared not pronounce 
the word, the idea did sometimes suggest itself to their 
minds, that, though next to a miracle, there still might 
be hope. 




CHAPTER XXVL 

Rosalie was lying on a sofa, a change for the bet- 
ter had taken place, and she was able to be removed 
from h<ir bed; but in her countenance there was that 
which defied hope. 

“Mr. Leslie,” she said to the old man who was 
sitting by her couch, “ 1 have long wished to speak to 
you, but you have looked so sad of late that I have 
not dared to make you, as I have hitherto done, the 
repository of my every hope and fear — my every 
thought and wish.” 

And here she took hold of his hand and pressed it 
tenderly to her lips. 

“ You must not look so wretched, now that your 
Rosalie is so composed — so happy. Only think of 
the blessings which encompass me on every side. 
Shed no tears for me, dear kind friend, consider the joy I 
must feel in being thus supported as I am through all my 
troubles, by those friends, whom you know how ten- 
derly I love. Oh! you cannot imagine my happiness, 
when l see that angel Lady Gertrude hovering over 
me, with her own hand administering to my wants — 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA, 


167 


and her mother, oh! how feebly could any language 
of mine express how venerated — how dear she is to 
my heart, which is bursting with gratitude for all her 
goodness to me. I never dared to hope for bliss like 
this. I would not exchange the hallowed composure 
of my feelings, for the prospect of a lengthened exist- 
ence. It has ever been your study, my friend — my 
father, to teach me to fix my hopes on high; and there 
they are raised, I cannot lower them^igain to this 
earth. All here is confusion — miserjw9rarkness to 
me; but when I continue to look above, then there is 
light and brightness — hope and comfort. I have. but 
one wish ungratified, and, perhaps, it is ungrateful 
with so many other blessings to ask for more; but still 
the idea harasses me, and prevents my having that 
perfect peace which otherwise I think would per- 
vade my mind. I long to disclose it — and yet I dare 
not.” 

She paused, and looked anxious, her colour changed, 
and she breathed quickly. 

“ Speak,” cried Mr. Leslie, “ and fear not. If it 
is within the verge of possibility, your desire shall be 
accomplished.” 

“ Oh !” exclaimed Rosalie, clasping her hands with 
fervour, “ if I could only think that I might die, on 
my own little bed in the white cottage at Fairbourne! 
I know,” she cried, starting up and speaking with an 
anxious voice, “ I know that it is at present untenant- 
ed, Lord Belmont bought it, in almost the same slate as 
we left it in, and I heard a short time ago, that the 
person who has occupied it, since we were there, has 
quitted it. Oh !” she continued, “ it may be a foolish 
fancy — weak you may deem it, but how freely do I 
imagine would my spirit depart, in the pure air of that 
sweet spot; but here in this dreadful London, where 
every breath I draw, seems laden with the weight of 
its hated atmosphere, here,” she continued, “ do not 
think me wicked, for thus saying, I feel I could not 
die in. peace. In my calmest hours, there is some- 
thing of dread— of fear, which appears to interpose 


168 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


between those holy feelings, which ought now alone 
to inspire me. I know 1 have sufficient strength to 
travel, and it is not merely a selfish wish that actu- 
ates me. But what comfort would it be to me, to 
leave my mother in that little nest of peace — there to 
linger out her few remaining days. For when I am 
gone, Signor Gabrielli will be too glad to get rid of her 
— I well know that. I have considered it all again 
and agaiiM|^taJ3£ as her temporal means are con- 
cerned, 'be, but as she was, before her 

wretched marriage; and I have some little to leave 
her, those presents that have been forced upon me, 
during my professional career. They will afford a 
little ready money, should she require it; and well 
am I convinced, that as long as she lives, there are 
those who will never neglect her — you amongst the 
number — dearest Sir.” 

Mr. Leslie could not speak. He could only press 
her hand in token of acquiescence in all she said. 
Rosalie proceeded : 

“Once at Fairbourne, close to my last resting 
place, far from all these scenes, the remembrance of 
which still hovers over my spirit, like the memory of 
a dark dream, I shall have nothing farther to dread. 
The few remaining hours that may be allowed to me, 
I can then devote, without one earthly anxiety to in- 
terfere, solely and wholly to the thoughts of my final 
departure. Perhaps it would be impossible to ima- 
gine the degree of ecstasy which the idea of being at 
Fairbourne occasions me, the sort of longing thirst, I 
have to breathe the air which to my fancy, blows 
there so pure and balmy. What luxury to ; inhale once 
more, the well-remembered perfume, which the eve- 
ning summer breeze wafts from the honey-suckles and 
jessamine, which encircle the porch of the sweet 
home of my childhood — it would be indeed bliss.” 

As she spoke, her eyes beamed with the bright- 
ness of former days, and the brilliancy of the flush 
which illumineddhe marble whiteness of her com- 
plexion, gave such an air of beauty to her whole ap- 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


169 


pearance, that whilst her devoted friend gazed upon 
her, he could almost have imagined, that it was al- 
ready a celestial vision upon which his eye rested. 

Mr. Leslie promised to arrange every thing. He 
foresaw no obstacle, if the medical attendants would 
give their consent, and vouch for her being able to 
bear the fatigue of the journey. 

“ And would it be expecting too much, if I w r ere to 
ask you to go with me?” she added in a tone of earnest 
entreaty. 

The emotion of the sorrowing man was loo great 
for utterance. He turned aside his head, but eloquent 
were the tears which fell in abundance from his eyes; 
and could the language of his faithful and attached 
heart have been revealed, it would have expressed it- 
self in much the same strain, as that which flowed so 
eloquently from the lips of the devoted Ruth ; “ En- 
treat me not to leave thee, or to return from fol- 
lowing after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go. 
Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried.” 

It may be easily imagined that with friends so anx- 
ious as those which Rosalie possessed, with no diffi- 
culties had Mr. Leslie to contend. 

Every arrangement for her comfort was at once 
made; her every wish was a command. The physi- 
cians although they shook their heads and pronounced 
the experiment hazardous, still did not negative it al- 
together ; therefore, it was fixed that in a very few 
days, she was to set forth towards Fairbourne, in one 
of those invalid carriages, which are so commodious- 
ly constructed, as to convey a sick person with little 
inconvenience or fatigue. 

She was to be accompanied by her mother, Mr. 
Leslie, and Johnson ; and the Belmonts who seemed 
to have really no thought but for the dying girl, de- 
termined on setting out about the same time for Bel- 
mont Abbey. 

As Rosalie had foreseen, Gabrielli made no objec- 
tion to all this. His wretched wife had long been to 
him an incumbrance, and his victim had indeed es- 

vol. ii. — 15 


170 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


caped his grasp — had become valueless — worse than 
useless. 

We will draw a veil over this odious theme. It is 
too painful, and reflection brings with it, all the tissue 
of evil engendered by his means. The wretch ! his 
avarice and cruelty had blighted the fairest of flowers. 
She who might have passed a life of tranquillity — 
peace and usefulness, was cut off in the spring time of 
her youth — a sacrifice, immolated on the shrine of 
sordid selfishness. 

But retribution sooner or later must overtake the 
wicked — cowardice and baseness of mind are the 
never failing concomitants of a guilty conscience ; and 
though for awhile the Almighty may stay his hand — 
may withhold his punishment, still his vials of wrath, 
are always ready prepared to pour upon the head of 
the sinner, and like the hand coming forth upon the 
wall in the days of Belshazzer when he least expected 
it, the just vengeance of the Almighty is ever ready 
to annihilate the wicked. 




CHAPTER XXVII. 

All the distressing events which had taken place 
lately, had much affected the spirits of every member 
of the Belmont family ; but ihere was one, who suf- 
fered more intensely than all the rest, and with the 
greatest reason. It was Fitz-Ernest; and had it not 
been for the support and sympathy which he received 
from his mother, in his present state of mental agonv, 
he would have been scarcely able to endure the load, 
which weighed so heavily on his mind. But her ju- 
dicious kindness was the means of averting many 
evils, and she even took upon herself to be the medi- 
um of communication, between her son, and Lady 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


171 


Constance. With that uprightness of heart and in- 
tention, which directed every action of Lady Belmont, 
and in which Fitz-Ernest fully participated, they both 
thought that there should be no concealment in the 
business. Lady Constance ought to hear all— every 
thing without disguise. They owed her — perfect con- 
fidence. 

Therefore, the Marchioness went to her, and told her 
every circumstance without the slightest reserve. She 
knew that much pain would be thus inflicted upon the'af- 
fectionale and attached girl, but still it was the only ho- 
nourable course of proceeding. She left it for her to'de- 
cide, whether the engagement should at once cease, or 
be postponed for a year, during which time Fitz-Ernest 
would travel. His health required a change, for the 
agitation of his mind had visibly affected it. 

It was a painful and perplexing decision for Lady 
Constance to make, for her affections were deeply in- 
volved ; but she was not without her share of proper 
pride. She begged for time, for reflection, and the 
next morning Lady Belmont received a note from her, 
saying that 44 although it would be a trial to the feel- 
ings of both, still she thought it would be more satis- 
factory in the end, if she could have some conversa- 
tion with Fitz-Ernest.” 

It was, indeed, an ordeal for him. He felt that un- 
der the present circumstances, he would rather have 
faced danger in any shape, than encounter the mild, 
sad eyes of her, towards whom he was aware he had 
acted unjustly; and it was with no slight degree of 
trepidation, that he found himself in her presence. 

But she received him with gentle kindness, she was 
calm, though very pale; and there was that in her 
manner which went at once to his heart. No re- 
proach was to be found either in the expression of 
her countenance, or in the accents of her voice, when 
she said, 44 Forgive me for causing you the pain of this 
interview, but it was for your own sake, as well as 
mine, that I requested it. I wish to tell you that I 
feel no anger towards you, for what has passed. It 


172 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


has been unfortunate for us both — for every one — but 
I do not blame you. 1 estimate my own merits at so 
low a standard, that I never wondered at your admi- 
ration of one, so superior to me — so every way per- 
fect. I know such feelings are not easily controlled ; 
and there were many circumstances, which com- 
bined to render the interest you felt for her, more in- 
tense — ” 

Lady Constance was silent for a few moments, and 
she saw that Fitz-Ernest’s agitation was much in- 
creased by this allusion to Rosalie; however, she felt 
that now was the moment ; she had embarked upon 
the exciting theme, and she must pursue it. 

“ Lady Belmont has told me that you still wish that 
our engagement may continue. Is this really your 
desire, Fitz-Ernest ? I wish to hear from your own 
lips — from your own heart — whether it is true; rely 
upon me with perfect confidence, consider me as a 
friend, and far than being an impediment in your 
way — I will smooth every difficulty, should you real- 
ly wish to get rid of the shackles of a tie, which 
would be irksome for you to retain. Have no con- 
cealment, as I said before, with me. Fear not to 
wound my feelings ; and recollect, I, too, have my 
share of pride ; and although I can extenuate much — 
forgive much — still I would scorn to wed one, who 
only offers me his hand on compulsion.” 

And here the colour mounted in the pale cheeks of 
Lady Constance, and her mild eye kindled. Fitz-Er- 
nest’s heart swelled with very varied emotions. He 
could not but admire the noble girl who had thus 
spoken, and his better reason told him that every 
quality was united in her, that a woman, that a wile 
ought to possess, to render a man truly happy. But 
at this moment his mind was so full of the idea of Ro- 
salie, that it seemed to him profanation — worse than 
hypocrisy to think, even of another. 

And then again, he remembered the anxious wish of 
his parents. He saw by the countenance of Constance, 
that though she struggled hard for mastery over her 


THE YOUNO PRIMA DONNA. 


173 


feelings, her varying colour and quivering lips, gave 
symptoms of strong internal conflict. He knew too 
well how fondly she loved him- 

A painful pause again ensued, and then it was Fitz- 
Ernest who, at length, broke the silence- 

“ Constance,” he said, “ you know the whole of my 
unfortunate story. It is for you to decide my fate. 
You are aware that my heart, at this moment, is 
wounded — bleeding — unworthy to be offered to one 
like you, whose virtues and perfections may well 
claim the most undivided, most devoted attachment. 
Through all the ill-fated events which have occurred, 
believe me when I declare that I never for a moment 
undervalued your excellencies. My feeling has been, 
how undeserving I was of such a blessing — I shall go 
far from hence, Constance ; time- may do much for 
me; it may assuage the anguish of my conscience, 
and may also bring with it other salutary effects to my 
mind. The time may arrive, when 1 shall be im- 
proved in stability of character — have gained more 
power over those impetuous feelings, which have led 
me into misery r which can never be totally oblite- 
rated from my recollection. I trust 1 may be a better 
man — perhaps,, a happier one ; and if 1 ever feel my- 
self in any degree worthy of possessing such a trea- 
sure as yourself, dear Constance — and should you be 
free to accept my offered homage, the day may ar- 
rive when I shall again be a suitor for your hand ; 
but now to offer it would be an insult to your excel- 
lence, for I am unworthy of you. I dare not yet look 
upon you, for my heart is oppressed with the. con- 
sciousness of weakness— of error. And now,. Con- 
stance — farewell, and though it may be under very 
altered circumstances — if ever we meet again, Hea- 
ven grant that 1 may be more worthy to press this 
hand,” and he affectionately raised hers to his- lips. 

Constance was speechless; but her heaving bosom 
gave tokens of strong emotion. She dared not even 
lift her eyes from the ground. There was a fierce 
struggle in her heart, between pride and feminine: 

L5* 


174 


THE YOUNG PRIM A DONNA. 


dignity, against a love so warm, so devoted, that it 
would fain have bid him stay. And when Fitz-Ernest 
was gone, what was the distress of her feelings? for 
with all the apparent calmness of her nature, she 
could feel most intensely. And he had left her, and 
she thought, perchance, her coldness had driven him 
from her sight. Had her manner been less frigid, it 
might have been otherwise. It was all her own fault, 
she was convinced. But he was really gone; and in 
the bitterness of her feelings, what would she not have 
given to re-say every word, to see him once more be- 
fore her. And then would she have told him, that 
even his divided heart, she could not relinquish; for 
she loved him with all the disinterested warmth of a 
woman’s first and early love, and though she acknow- 
ledged his faultiness — felt his coldness and averted 
looks, and even, whilst worldly consideration was ar- 
raying itself against him — now that she saw him suf- 
fering — heart-stricken, she forgave all; and though, 
indeed, this distress had arisen from his love towards 
another, her attachment grew more tender, for his 
very sorrow — so enduring is the love of a devoted wo- 
man ! 

And Fitz-Ernest, as he left her presence, was not 
without his regrets. He felt that he had thrown from 
him a treasure. It was his wish immediately to leave 
England, but still there was a torturing anxiety that 
stayed his steps. He had heard the decision of the 
physicians; he knew that Rosalie must die, but yet he 
lingered about the spot where she still breathed. 

He told his mother all that had passed between 
himself and Constance. It was only what she had 
expected from them both; and all that Lady Belmont 
could hope, was, that time and the strength of Lady 
Constance’s attachment might at some future period, 
ensure the completion of a union, upon which so much 
depended. In the mean time, Fitz-Ernest was making 
every preparation for a lengthened tour on the conti- 
nent. 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


175 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Nothing could more strongly mark the improve- 
ment in the mind of Sir Francis, than the intense so- 
licitude which influenced him, on the subject of the 
wretched cause, of his present suffering. Not the 
slightest animosity did he feel towards him. Indeed 
he took upon himself the sole blame of the dreadful 
catastrophe. He well remembered the blow, which, 
in the arrogance of his spirit, he had inflicted, without 
the slightest feeling of remorse, upon the impetuous 
youth — a blow which he knew he must have caused 
the very furies of rage in his breast; but in the days 
of thoughtless anger, when he thus gave vent to every 
violent feeling, he confessed that he entertained so 
high an opinion of himself — of his superiority over 
others^ that he considered it beneath the level of his 
own dignity, to think, for a moment, of what he had 
made him endure. 

He was now all anxiety that the wretched condi- 
tion of the unfortunate Italian should T>e ameliorated 
as much as possible. He poured large sums of mo- 
ney into Mr. Leslie’s hand, in order that pecuniary 
jneans might not be wanting, to induce those about 
him, to show him every degree of kindness. 

Sir Francis was now decidedly better; but still he 
remained in the same spot, to which he was removed, 
at the first moment that succeeded the sad catastro- 
phe. The physicians were fearful of any change ; 
and, strange to say, notwithstanding all the discom- 
fort of his present position, he evinced no desire to re- 
turn to the splendour and luxury of his own habita- 
tion. His sole pleasure seemed now to be derived 
from his conversations with Mr. Leslie, and in listen- 


176 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


ing to the account of the resignation and heavenly 
state of mind of Rosalie. 

It appeared to be a melancholy consolation to him, 
to be under the same roof with her — to hear of her 
hourly; fain would he have communicated with her 
by messages — but she knew nothing of the past dread- 
ful events. Her friends would not,, for the world,, 
have allowed her last moments to be embittered, by 
the relation of a story so replete with horror. They 
endeavoured to render every idea peaceful and 
serene. 

Were he at his own house,. Sir Francis felt that he 
could not enjoy so much of the society of Mr. Leslie ; 
and then, in the gloom which seemed to hang about 
his present feelings, he dreaded the idea of returning 
to the scene, that would remind him- so forcibly of his 
former mode of existence — that existence, to which 
he now looked back with- remorse — with disgust. No- 
thing could induce him to see any of his former asso- 
ciates ; and Templeton, who with all his foibles and 
follies, possessed the redeeming quality of an attached 
heart, in vain hovered about the house, endeavouring 
to gain access to his presence; However, his tempo- 
rary comforts Sir Francis did not forget; and many a 
valuable enclosure did he receive, which, although 
most acceptable, he would have almost relinquished, 
to be allowed to make himself useful to one, towards 
whom he really felt grateful affection ; and, perhaps, 
indeed, it would have proved a useful lesson to the 
dissipated dandy, could he have witnessed the mental, 
sufferings of the man, whose worldly prosperity he 
had before imagined, must shield him from every wo, 
that could befall humanity. 

Often did Sir Francis, aahe lay in the languid state 
of weakness engendered by suffering, say to Mr. Les- 
lie — “ Could the gay companions of my pleasures but 
see me now — could they but imagine- what I feel, 
what a check would it be to them, in their career of 
dissipation and of vice. Little did I imagine in the 
prosperous days of health, and happiness, that I could; 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


177 


ever be brought thus low; how humbly do I now ac- 
knowledge, that no joys derived from a source, from 
whence 1 have extracted my enjoyments, can be pro- 
ductive of any oiher end but that of misery — of self- 
reproach. Every pleasure that is drawn from thence, 
can be no more than a transient gush, that comes 
down impetuously, sparkling and foaming in its 
course ; but how soon does it run out, and leave a 
muddy and polluted channel. What a melancholy — 
what a degrading spectacle, is the man who, stretch- 
ed upon a bed of sickness, remembers what he has 
been, during his existence in the world — and oh! how 
fearful are his recollections! The smiling appear- 
ances which gaiety once created, are transformed 
into the' blackest shades of vice.” 

Mr. Leslie, on his own account, as well as at the 
anxious desire of Sir Francis, was constant in his 
visits to the wretched Arturo. A carriage of the 
Baronet’s conveyed him to his place of confinement 
daily. The unhappy youth had been placed wholly 
under the charge of keepers, and truly it was a heart- 
rending sight, to behold the total wreck of mind and 
body, of this once beautiful specimen of a human be- 
ing. The state of mental derangement was so vio- 
lent, that they were forced to confine him in a man- 
ner which, to Mr. Leslie, was hard to witness. He 
knew no one, and his condition was considered hope- 
less. 

One morning, when Mr. Leslie went to see him, he 
found that his medical attendants had been at last 
able to do, what they had long wished, which was to 
shave his head. The operation had just been per- 
formed, and, with a feeling of anguish, he perceived 
on a table a quantity of those beautiful black curls, 
which once adorned so proudly, the head upon which 
they clustered. 

Poor youth !— and Mr. Leslie’s thoughts flew back 
to the moment he had first seen him, when with such 
admiration, his eye fell on those rich ornaments; how 
little did he imagine what a tragedy would be his fate! 


178 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


It was, indeed, with a pang of sorrow that he ap- 
proached the table, and selecting two of the bright 
locks, which lay scattered unheeded before him, he 
placed them carefully, in a letter, and then put them 
into his bosom. 

“ They will be precious to me,” he said; “ and there 
is another, who would press this poor token to her 
heart, with melancholy pleasure.” 

Mr. Leslie had given orders that, should there ever 
be a moment of consciousness, he might instantly be 
summoned ; and, to the surprise of all, he was called 
upon the very next day to attend, as the insanity had 
suddenly given way under the violent remedies to 
which the surgeons had resorted; but the state of the 
patient was most alarming. He was sinking in the 
most rapid manner. 

So generous had. been Sir Francis towards Arturo, 
that every comfort had been afforded to the sufferer ; 
and Mr. Leslie had the inexpressible relief of finding 
him no longer chained to the ground a raving mani- 
ac, but lying on a decent bed; and as he approached, 
and pressed within his own, the emaciated hand, he 
heard the well-known accents, which once gave such 
pleasure to his ear, now mournfully uttering the words 
— “ Oh ! Signor ?nio !” 

The frenzy had indeed passed, but the exhaustion 
which followed, the physicians pronounced fatal. 
Life was ebbing fast, but reason had resumed its full 
dominion over the mind. 

Agonizing were the thoughts of the past. We will 
not pain our readers, by attempting at any length to 
relate the scene which followed, or pourtray the mi- 
sery of the feelings of the unhappy youth — the terror 
of his conscience — the fervour of his repentance. 
He felt there could be little hope for one, who had 
planned the dreadful deed, his hand had perpetrated. 
But his old and tried friend was at his post, bringing- 
with him, as he always did, peace and comfort, through 
the mediation of His merits, to whom he besought 
him to cling. 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


179 


Seeing that he was thoroughly roused to a sense of 
his danger, ho now endeavoured to lead him, an hum- 
ble penitent to the throne of grace. He prayed that 
tender mercy might be vouchsafed from that benifi- 
cent power, who “ will not break the bruised reed.” 

We do notthink much of a death-bed repentance; still, 
in this case, we believe it to have been sincere. One 
great absorbing passion had obscured the light of rea- 
son from the mind of Arturo — had completely per- 
verted a heart otherwise amiable and good ; and now 
on his bed of death — now that his vision was cleared 
from all the clouds of jealousy — of passion, he deplored 
his fatal infatuation — he prayed for forgiveness, 
humbled to the dust and with self abhorrence. He 
felt, indeed, that he had no refuge, but through Him, 
who died for the redemption of sinners; and Mr. Les- 
lie felt cheered, for he could not help indulging in the 
blessed hope, that the sighs of penitence — those bitter 
tears of self-reproach, might be precious in the eyes 
of Him, who “ willeth not the death of a sinner.” 

A few short days after his restoration to conscious- 
ness, Arturo died. This interval had been passed in 
the most profitable manner. 

The dying penitent had scarcely mentioned the 
name of Rosalie. It seemed as if he wished, as much 
as possible, to banish from his mind, an image which 
still had the power to recall him to earthly feelings. 
By a strong effort to check the course of his ideas, 
but a few hours before he expired, he sent for Mr. 
Leslie; and after having devoutly received the sacra- 
ment in the protestant form, he remained for some 
time resting quietly — his countenance composed and 
serene. At length he turned to Mr. Leslie, and draw- 
ing hirn gently towards him, whispered in his ear — 
“ I have only one more question to ask — may I 
dare to hope, that I may ever meet her again?” 

Mr. Leslie’s countenance beamed ; there was en- 
couragement — confidence in its expression. 

“ As far as an erring mortal like myself, can pre- 
sume to hope, I should pronounce, that repentance so 


180 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


sincere as yours, my dear Arturo, will be received at 
that sanctuary, where every groan is wafted, which is 
heaved from the labouring bosom ; though heard by no 
human ear, it reaches that which is never closed 
against the returning penitent, 

“ His ear, is open to the softest cry, 

His grace, descends to meet the lifted eye, 

He reads the language of a silent tear 
And sighs are incense, from a heart sincere.” 

“ Rely firmly, implicitly, upon the only support from 
which you can derive comfort, and then truly may I 
bid you hope.” 

This hope brightened the last moments of the ill- 
fated Italian. His death was calm, and holy, unlike 
the turbulent state of his feverish life. He anxiously 
sought, and had obtained in the most generous un- 
bounded manner, the forgiveness of his once detested 
rival, but whom he now only remembered withjieep 
contrition, gratitude, and sorrow. 

A better hope had dispersed the gloom, which for a 
time overcast his erring, desponding heart. It was 
illumined by the cheering rays of celestial mercy ; 
and when Mr. Leslie at length, with his own hand 
closed those dim eyes, which were once wont to flash so 
brightly, so fiercely, he thanked God for his goodness. 
He no longer sorrowed for Arturo; he felt that the 
wisdom of Providence shone forth in this instance, 
with conspicuous splendour; that more than one im- 
portant end had been gained by this sacrifice; and in 
the calm and happy moments, which preceded the 
dissolution of the poor Italian, truly did Mr. Leslie 
feel, that love directs all the actions of the Almighty; 
for in the divine assistance, which was so plentifully 
vouchsafed to this faulty miserable creature, love 
shone forth, tempered by that justice, which never 
fails to accompany every divine dispensation; and 
after Mr. Leslie with the Italian Bruno, had followed 
his remains to the grave, which with strictest privacy, 
but — with every consideration of decency and respect. 


the young prima donna. 


181 

had been prepared by the orders of Sir Francis, when, 
at length, he had watched the earth close over the cof- 
fin, and had taken a final farewell of all that remained 
of Arturo, although his kind heart was ver y very sad, 
still his spirit breathed a thanksgiving. 

His prolonged life would have been but a turbulent 
— fitful dream; his impetuous passions he felt, must 
have ever been in the way of his happiness, his every pro- 
spect was dark and dreary; and now Mr. Leslie re- 
membered how full of faith, how repentant was his 
death bed, and though his tears flowed in abundance, 
they were not bitter drops. 




CHAPTER XXIX. 

And Rosalie, did she know, that he who had been 
to her as a brother, he whom she so loved, in whom 
.she felt so warm an interest, had been thus snatched 
from this world ? 

Many were the anxious inquiries she made for Ar- 
turo, asking repeatedly to see him. Mr. Leslie said 
he w r as ill, dangerously ill, at length he told her he 
was dead. 

This intelligence, at any other time, would indeed, 
have afflicted her sorely. Now she received it with 
resignation and calmness. She was herself, standing 
so completely on the brink of eternity, that she felt, 
one who like herself, had so little prospect of happi- 
ness in this world, was far more blest, more favoured, 
when removed early from an existence of pain and 
uncertainty. 

Mr. Leslie of course concealed from her, the cir- 
cumstance that occasioned the event* but he told her 
of the blessed state in which he died, and Rosalie 
wept tears of joy and gratitude. 

VOL. II. — 16 




182 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


“ My brother!” she cried, as she pressed to her lips 
the dark lock, which Mr. Leslie had placed within 
her hand, “ with the blessing of Heaven we shall 
soon see each other; and then how joyful — how pure 
will be our intercourse — uninterrupted by every 
earthly, jarring feeling, which here disturbs the tran- 
quillity of happiness. Oh ! in those blessed regions, 
where I humbly hope to be reunited to my kind Ar- 
turo, what bliss may we not be permitted to enjoy 
there — where the friends. we love never die, and leave 
us to sorrow — in that celestial abode, where shines 
the sun that never sets — where that calm reigns, 
which is never to be disturbed.” 

The day had nearly arrived, when Rosalie was to 
set out for Fairbourne. Every arrangement which 
kindness could suggest, had been formed for her com- 
fort and ease. The white cottage had been pre- 
pared, and restored to the state in which she had 
left it. 

Rosalie, who had hitherto appeared to be in an 
astonishing state of composure, evinced two days 
previous to her departure, a degree -of restlessness, 
which was remarked by all those around her ; and 
she at length particularly requested to see Lady Bel- 
mont, w'ho had not yet that day paid her accustomed 
visit. 

On her arrival, Rosalie begged to be left alone with 
her, and then fixing her large eyes upon the counte- 
nance of her benevolent friend, she said, “ Dearest 
lady, do not think me ungrateful — never to be satis- 
fied — I have still another boon to ask, before I leave 
London. With all the kindness I have received — the 
benefits for which I'am so truly thankful; still I feel, 
that I have a load to shake off my heart, before I can 
quite die in peace. On one point I am still unsatis- 
fied. Start not, when 1 tell you, that I wish once 
more to see Lord Fitz-Ernest; and I must see him in 
the presence of Lady Constance. I have long per- 
ceived by your countenance, that all is not right there 
— but it must be — shall be. I know him well — he is 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


183 


formed for such happiness, as would be ensured to 
him, by a union with her, sweet lady— and oh! — what 
torture it is to me— the thought still haunts me— that 
I have been the cause of dividing two hearts, which 
were created to constitute the happiness of each 
other; I should be so calm — so peaceful — no thoughts 
but those of heaven would intrude themselves upon 
my mind, were it not for this one care, which seems 
to impede my progress — drags me down to earthly 
feelings. Lady Constance has promised to visit me 
to-morrow — will you, dearest, kindest lady — will you 
endeavour to contrive this, by me, so much desired 
meeting. Can you not bring Lord Fitz-Ernest, at the 
same time, into my presence?” 

Lady Belmont hesitated. She felt that it would be 
almost too great a trial for all parties, and Rosalie 
perceiving and reading her thoughts, exclaimed with 
the most vehement earnestness, “Oh, lady, do not 
falter in your acquiescence to my request; I have 
pondered deeply, upon what I now propose — Fitz-Er- 
nest thinks of me as I was in those days, when sickness 
had not robbed me of external advantages — I believe 
that I was fair to look upon; and now he will see me 
as'I am at this moment — a death-like shadow about 
to pass away — the very sight of my spectre-like form, 
will at once chase every remaining feeling, but that 
of sadness. My voice will be like one speaking from 
the grave. My hollow feeble accents will sound the 
note of death, and truly happy should I be, could its 
last remaining breath be spent in imploring him to be 
true to her, who will be the joy and consolation of 
his future life. Do not not deem my request imprac- 
ticable — romantic — rely upon me — the words of one, 
hovering between life and death, are sometimes pro- 
phetic. I see you will promise me; and then the 
dying Rosalie will not have one wish ungratified.” 

Since Fitz-Ernest had seen Rosalie, a change in- 
deed had come over her. When last he looked upon 
her, she was in the full radiance of dress — of bril- 
liancy. The work of death had not then commenced 


184 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


its final — fatal havoc — the bud was still beautiful, and 
perfect to the sight, although the destroying canker 
worm had begun its devouring work, within its folded 
leaves. As Rosalie had imagined, when Fitz-Ernest 
dwelt upon her memory, he saw her image as it had 
been on that fatal night, when clinging to his feet in 
all the graceful abandon of grief, she deprecated his 
rash passion. He saw her, as she was then, with the 
rich dress of crimson, the golden ornaments encircling 
her arms and waist — her splendid hair, floating in 
wild luxuriance over her neck and bosom; — he did, 
indeed, think of her as the beautiful woman, and as 
such, notwithstanding all his efforts to conquer the 
feeling he still felt towards her. He heard that she 
was ill — dying, but still it was the lovely — the fasci- 
nating Rosalie — the actress whose talent had enslaved 
the hearts of all who saw her, whose image glittered 
in his mind. 

The morning after Rosalie so earnestly requested 
to see him, Fitz-Ernest, with a heart sinking with 
emotion, and steps tremulous with the agitation which 
shook his whole frame, followed his mothor into a 
room, whose chastened light, threw a sort of quiet 
shade over every object; and how feebly could words 
pourtray his feelings, when his eyes fell on all that re 
mained of the lovely — fascinating cantatrice. 

On a couch she lay, wrapped in the folds of a white 
dress, her head supported by pillows ; and had it not 
been for the relief of a tress of raven black, that had 
escaped from the small cap which confined the still 
luxuriant hair — and for the shade of the lashes, which 
fringed her half closed eyes — so marble were the 
cheeks — the lips of the reclining figure, that amidst 
the mass of white drapery which, surrounded it, at 
first sight the face could scarcely be discerned ; but 
as Lady Belmont approached the sofa, Rosalie sud- 
denly opened her eyes ; and neither disease nor the 
near approach of death, had been able to dim their 
lustre; like the glow-worm, their light shone forth 
brightly, enlivening for a moment the surrounding 
gloom. Affection beamed fondly as she looked upon 


THE YOUNG PR1MA DONNA. 


185 


her friend, and a flash of more vivid feeling darted 
from them, as they rested upon Fitz-Ernest, who, mo- 
tionless from agitation, was unable to advance. But 
after a short pause the sick girl held out one of her 
thin, transparent hands. 

“ Fitz-Ernest,” she said in a voice faintund hollow ; 
with all her self-possession, for a brief moment there 
was a rush of feeling at her heart, which she believed 
till then she had wholly conquered. 

Lady Belmont much affected left the room, and 
Fitz-Ernest whom this appeal at once roused, was in 
another instant kneeling by her side, bending over the 
pale hand, which he pressed reverentially to his lips, 
whilst he vainly endeavoured to repress the grief, 
which trembled through his whole frame, Rosalie 
spoke, 

“ I have longed for this moment — ardently desired 
to see you — once more ! — anxiety on your account, 
has been the greatest pain that I have endured you 
find me altered — do not grieve for me. I thank Hea- 
ven, I am no longer the Rosalie who has been the un- 
intentional cause of so much evil — and, believe me, 
that I should be happy — perfectly happy — but for the 
thought of you. — Fes,” she continued, “ ’tis in your 
power to calm my every remaining care.” 

Fitz-Ernest continued silent, his voice was choked 
with struggling tears.. “ She, therefore, continued, 
“ I shall die still with the wretched idea upon my con- 
science, that it is I, who have severed you from your 
betrothed — that it is I, who have caused disappoint- 
ment to those to whom I owe so much— Oh ! this 
dreadful thought, how it haunts me — tortures me — 
how it interferes with my prayers, and breaks my fe- 
verish rest.— Could I but see her hand in yours — 
could I but hear you plight your faith, to one, who so 
well deserves your love — then should I,” and she de- 
voutly folded her hands upon her breast, “ lay me 
down in peace, and take my rest — in tranquillity and 
happiness. I go to Fairbourne to-morrow, Fitz- 
Ernest — how thrice blest I shall be, if I am permitted,.. 

1 . 6 * 


186 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


even for a few short hours only, to inhale once morei 
the genial breezes, which methinks will waft refresh- 
ment to my soul — if I can only carry with me a 
mind unshackled by the weight of this one heavy 
care.” 

As she thus spoke, Lady Belmont again entered the 
apartment, but she was not alone. In her hand she 
led Lady Constance Delaval. It was a moment of 
agonizing surprise to some of the assembled group — of 
agitation to all. 

Lady Constance, at the sight of Fitz-Ernest, hid 
her face on the shoulder of Lady Belmont ; and start- 
ing on his/eet, he looked anxiously from the pale Ro- 
salie to the drooping girl, who hung for support upon 
his mother, 

“ Fitz-Ernest,” said Rosalie, “ lead Lady Constance 
to me.” 

Fitz-Ernest instantly obeyed her command. He 
approached, and taking the hand of his destined 
bride, gently drew her towards the sofa. Rosalie 
raised herself, and looked fixedly from one to ano- 
ther; then addressing Fitz-Ernest she said, “ Say you 
will love her — will you cherish her, as your beloved 
wife— and promise, that death alone shall again sepa- 
rate you.” 

Fitz-Ernest knelt beside her couch, and Constance, 
impelled by an impulse which she could not control, 
did so likewise. 

“ Rosalie,” he said, in a voice which he in vain en- 
deavoured to command, “ if Constance will accept a 
heart so crushed and humbled with self-reproach as 
mine, which I now offer, I swear that I will be to 
her, all that you desire, as soon as grief, such as I 
must feel, has had its allotted period.— For you, I 
must sorrow, for I shall always feel that it is I, who 
made you thus — that I have been the means of cutting 
short the thread of your sweet life. 

“No; speak not so,” she exclaimed, “at this mo- 
ment of joy. Mr. Leslie,” she cried, “ will you pro 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


187 


mise to join these hands, to ensure their lasting feli- 
city V* 

Mr. Leslie came forward ; he saw with dread — with 
terror, the excitement of Rosalie — her exhausted frame 
— how could she bear it ? He approached, he had 
only time to assure her, that all her wishes would be 
accomplished. A violent fit of coughing ensued, which 
left her exhausted — so feeble, that the very worst fears 
were excited. 

But it seemed that the hope of reaching Fairbourne 
had almost the effect of keeping her alive ; had it not 
been for that hope, she could scarcely have had the 
energy left to live. 

For hours after this affecting interview, she seemed ho- 
vering between life and death; but at length she fell into 
a deep sleep, which lasted for a period so long, so un- 
expected, that those who lingered round her couch, 
with such anxious watchfulness, trembled, when the 
idea crossed their imaginations, that the sleep might 
become eternal — the sleep of death. However, to the 
astonishment of all, she awoke refreshed and strength- 
ened, and all anxiety to commence her journey; and 
it was with wonder and thankfulness that, at length, 
she reached the haven, for which she had so long panted 
with such fervour. 




CHAPTER XXX. 

At the close of a beautiful summer’s day, the car- 
riage stopped at the door of the White Cottage. All 
was serene and calm. It was one of those still even- 
ings, when the silence of nature bears rather the cha- 
racter of death, than of repose. Rosalie, when she 
was lifted out of the carriage, begged that she might 
be allowed to pause a few moments, before she en._ 


188 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


tered the house. She felt that, in all probability, never 
again would she quit it, until that day, when she 
should be carried to her grave. 

She gave a long, fond look around. The years that 
had passed had done much there. Every thing had 
flourished — improved. The shrubs, which her own 
hands had planted,, were luxuriant in blossom; the 
trees which, when she had last seen them, were in their 
infancy — full of leaf, and vigorous in their growth. 
All had prospered, save the blighted girl who now 
looked upon them. She had been transplanted from 
the genial soil, and had withered — was about to 
die; she had been formed to live under the glowing 
ray of kindness. The flower of the valley would die 
upon the mountain-top, as surely as would the hardy 
mountaineer, now flourishing upon the rugged Al- 
pine heights, languish and fade, if transported to the 
"valley. 

For this moment had the poor girl sighed — oh ! 
how ardently ! and grateful was her heart, that her 
wishes were thus accomplished. But human nature 
will put forth its thorns — the bitter must ever mingle 
with the sweet; and when she looked round upon the 
scenes of her once joyful existence — when she felt 
that every object breathed of happiness, of which she 
was destined never to partake, it was but natural that 
a feeling of regret should rise in her heart; and she 
murmured faintly, “How happy could I, be here.” 
But she checked, with an effort, her rebellious 
thoughts; adding, “and I am happy — here to die.” 

She then requested to be taken into the house, and 
laid upon her own little bed, and from that bed, she 
was scarcely ever moved again. The windows of 
the room commanded a view of the woods of Belmont 
Abbey, and from amidst their clustering summer 
foliage, rose the spire of Fairbourne church. 

On this scene, would Rosalie gaze with grateful 
rapture; and from the open casement she inhaled the 
fragrant perfume of her favourite flowers. All around 
seemed to waft healing on its wings. Supported by 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


189 


cushions, she lay, feeble, but not suffering; life was 
ebbing gently from her. Death, as if in mercy to the 
sweet being, it was about to claim as its own, was 
not rough in its advances; imperceptibly, even to her- 
self, was she drawing nearer and nearer to her last 
moments. Her weakness was great, but exquisite 
were her sources of enjoyment. All the friends she 
loved so well, were by turns near her. She could lie 
tranquilly, and watch the dear countenance of the 
sweet friend of her youth, Lady Gertrude, who sat by 
her bed-side, either reading to her, or speaking with 
those accents of tenderness, which had ever been so 
precious to the ear of Rosalie. 

Certainly, the poor girl was highly favoured. 
There was a fascination about her, which had strange- 
ly interested the feelings of the whole family ; and, 
from the first to the last, they were all influenced by 
it; from the noble father, to the baby Algernon, all 
had been led captive by a charm, which laid hold of 
the best feelings of their nature. And Mr. Leslie, who 
loved the dying girl so well, how did he bear up whilst 
watching her, daily, hourly — sinking into her last 
rest? 

The old man surprised all around by the firmness 
which he now evinced. He had nerved himself, 
wound himself up to the trial. As long as there was 
a motive for the exertion, he would be found firm and 
steadfast; therefore, no indulgence did he give to the 
softness of his heart. He called up all his resolution 
for the struggle, and was thus able to sit by the bed- 
side of the departing spirit, breathing in her ear words 
of consolation, of strengthening aid. 

Rosalie’s mind was in a blessed state for transla- 
tion from this world. She had long looked upon it, 
as if it were receding from her view, and kept her 
eye steadily fixed upon another. But no vain-glorious 
feelings filled her mind; she was thoroughly humble; 
she knew her own imperfections, and prayed for for- 
giveness for her errors. She told Mr. Leslie, that she 
was perfectly aware of the faults which, perhaps, 


190 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


had been the means of expediting her early death. 
Perchance, had she struggled more firmly, against the 
morbid feelings to which she had given way, she might 
yet have been spared. She alluded to the dislike in 
which she had indulged, to the career which it. was 
the will of Providence should be her lot; and she 
would say : “ There was another feeling, dear Mr. 
Leslie, that I nurtured to my destruction, which I 
cherished in my breast, when I ought to have plucked 
it out at the very first, and not allowed it to have 
taken such root, that its fibres had twisted about my 
very heart-strings; so that when I did, indeed, tear it 
thence — oh ! it was at the forfeit of my life ! My short 
existence,” she added, “would be a lesson of. wisdom 
could it be read. It might teach, that unqualified 
submission to every decree of heaven is a duty to 
which all should strive most earnestly to attain. Had 
I, instead of giving way to despondency, beheld my 
trials in their proper light — had I remembered from 
whence they came, the aggravated circumstances of 
my case might have affected me less. I ought to 
have recollected, that the faults which spring up in 
the luxuriant soil of happiness, require the firm hand 
of adversity to extirpate them. In His love, in His 
mercy the Almighty had stricken me, and I ought to 
have been resigned. My fate might be a warning to 
the young, the ardent. It might tell them not to make 
for themselves idols, I formed one in my heart, and 
how enervating was its effect upon my mind. It took 
from me the power of exertion, and thus I sunk under 
the weight of what I had to endure. There are mo- 
ments in my feverish existence, to which I look baclu. 
with horror, moments of frantic delusion, unsustained 
by religious hope; but the mercy vouchsafed to me 
has been great ; and though late, the effort was made, 
has succeeded and now, I have cast all off, every 
earthly care, every worldly hope, and I turn my 
thoughts, and look alone to Heaven.” 

Thus would Rosalie converse with her faithful ex- 
cellent friend, and in his arms at length she expired! 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


191 


It was on a lovely evening of one of those summer 
days, which seem so bright that it is loathe to close; 
the afternoon had been hot and sultry, but Rosalie felt 
not its genial warmth ; the cold damps of death were 
gathering upon her; the sun was about to set, and a 
red gleam of a departing ray shone full into this 
chamber of sorrow. 

Rosalie, who had been lying quietly, and apparent- 
ly sleeping, suddenly opened her eyes. Lady Bel- 
mont, who had been watching by her, rose hastily to 
let down the curtain. She feared the light had dis- 
turbed her; but Rosalie said; “No, no, dear lady, I 
love to look at it.” Presently the bright glow grew 
fainter and fainter, and soon a gloom succeeded its 
brilliancy. Silence reigned in the apartment; it was 
broken by Rosalie, who faintly said, “Mr. Leslie, take 
me in your arms; the moment is arrived.” 

The heart-stricken old man passively obeyed. 

Once or twice she looked at him without speaking 
a word, and then lifted up her eyes in such a manner, 
that it is utterly impossible for description to pour- 
tray. But her faithful friend understood her perfectly; 
it was with a mixture of regret — of confidence in God 
— and of certainty, that she was dying, that she look- 
ed from him to Heaven. 

Never — never, though often in sorrow and joy he 
had looked up with her to the throne of mercy, never, 
had he seen her thus. The situation of a dying per- 
son is so singular, it seems neither to bejong to this 
world or to the next. 

She whispered to him, “ You have ever been my 
guardian angel — dearest and best of friends, farewell 
— you will soon follow me;” — these were her last 
words. 

But her still unglazed eyes fixed themselves with a 
never to be forgotten expression of tenderness on 
Lady Belmont, and her hand sought that of her at- 
tached nurse, who had been summoned hastily to the 
room; these were the last testimonies of expiring love. 
“The feeble— fluttering— thrilling — oh! how thrilling, 


192 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


pressure of the hand — the last fond look of the glazing 
eye, turning upon her benefactress, even from the 
threshold of existence, the faint, faltering accents, 
struggling in death to give one more assurance of af- 
fection.” 

And thus she died; with the calm serene smile of a 
saint, upon her lips. She was ripe from her birth, 
into the life of an angel. Long already had she 
sought for happiness from the fountain, whence blest 
spirits derive their bliss. 

She was proved by her sufferings. For a few short 
years did she feel the lot of mortality; and these 
struggles, in which by her patience she so nobly gave 
proof of submission to her Heavenly Father, we hum- 
bly hope have rendered her entrance into the land of 
bliss the more certain. 

Surrounded by her dearest friends, she died happy, 
and her death as but a passage into that eternal state, 
in which we confidently rely that her happiness will 
be far greater than that of the most favoured of those 
she leaves on earth. 

“ for when the short repose of death is past, 

Then transport follows — bliss ! — eternal bliss 1” 




i 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

Deep was the sorrow which reigned around. Ro- 
salie was indeed gone! those eyes of beauty were 
closed, never more to fix their radiant glances on 
those she so much loved. It was a sad moment to 
all, for though the event had been for some time hour- 
ly expected, yet when it did arrive, every one seemed 
unprepared. 

The young people received the intelligence, with 
that burst of strong and genuine grief, which is the 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


193 


characteristic of their age, but Lady Gertrude’s sor- 
row was not the tear forgot as soon as shed ; her love 
for Rosalie had indeed grown with her growth, and 
strengthened with her strength, and in vain she tried 
to calm her feelings ; it was not till after her mother 
had led her weeping child to the bed, on which the 
remains of the poor girl were laid, that Lady Ger- 
trude could in any way tranquillize her mind; and it 
was after a most painful struggle, that she at last pre- 
vailed upon herself, to look upon a spectacle which 
she imagined would harrow up her every feeling. 

But Lady Belmont thought otherwise, and she was 
right; for when the sorrowing girl gazed on her che- 
rished friend, how could she repine at her lot, for pen 
can feebly pourtray the heavenly composure which 
breathed from her countenance — the happy, mild, 
and angelic air which pervaded its every expression 
truly: — 


“ The rapture of repose was there.” 


No symptom of pain or sorrow were to be traced 
in the beautiful marble face. 

She still might doubt the tyrant’s power, 

So fair — so calm — so softly sealed. 

Long did Lady Gertrude linger by the side of her, 
whosp remembrance would ever be so dear. 

A kind of fascination chained her to the spot — a 
sweet and soothing sorrow had usurped the place of 
turbulent grief. And could she, in her selfish regret, 
have wished to recall the sweet sufferer to this 
world, which to her had been one of such sadness? — 
oh no! 

“ Pleased would she rather hail her glorious flight, 

And trace her progress to the realms of day.” 

But the moment had arrived, she must take a final 
VOL. ii. — 17 


194 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


farewell of all that was left, of the still beautiful Ro- 

Gertrude knelt by the side of the bed, and buried 
her face within her hand. The aspirations of her 
pure young heart, could they have been heard, would 
have breathed no doubt of piety and holy thoughts, for 
she was praying. We can imagine the scene was one 
of deep, of affecting interest. She had begged to be 
left alone for a few moments, and Lady Belmont who 
well knew her child, felt convinced that what she 
asked would contribute to her future solace. 

What a contrast between the two friends! Lady 
Gertrude with every pulse beating in her animated 
frame, in the full powers of vitality, her cheeks flushed 
with emotion — with all her feelings, fresh, ardent and 
glowing; and then to look upon the cold, lifeless, 
statue-looking form which was stretched upon the bed 
of death; and to think that she was but a brief space 
before, the radiant cantatrice , whose talents, whose 
beauty had captivated thousands. But in death, she 
was still most lovely to look upon; she seemed as if 
in a deep sleep; the tender hand of her nurse had ar- 
ranged her last dress with the most exquisite care, 
and although with a heart half broken, the sad office 
had been performed, still she lingered over it; it was 
her last — last service. One dark dress had been ar- 
ranged on either side of her fair face, and oh! the 
beauty of her long dark lashes! and the pencilled 
brows, now more than ever conspicuous, from the 
startling whiteness of the skin. 

The room was decorated with the choicest flowers 
that the gardens and green houses could afford ; but 
one magnificent white moss rose alone, was permitted 
to be placed on the corpse. It seemed truly the em- 
blem of her own sweet self. 

Gertrude, deeply engaged in her own absorbing 
thoughts, scarcely heeded the opening of the door, nor 
the approach of another person, until she felt that 
some one was kneeling by her side. She uncovered 
her eyes, and beheld Mr. Leslie, and then she felt that 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


195 


her sorrow, great as it was, could not be compared to 
that which he suffered. She had not seen him since the 
event had taken place; she was aware that she was not 
sufficiently firm and composed for an interview, so af- 
fecting to both. Her agitation must increase his, and 
now, as her eyes fell on his pale, haggard countenance 
— in his form that was shrunk to a degree which was 
quite startling to behold, she read a tale of grief, 
which checked her own emotions. Truly he looked 
the broken-hearted father, of an only child. 

“ Mr. Leslie,” she cried, “ bless God with me, for 
His goodness to this beloved being. See how in death 
she smiles upon us.” 

And indeed she might have expressed herself in the 
beautiful words of the poet 


“ Was this then death?” 

“ Oh, soft yet sudden change! — what shall I call thee ! 
No more — no more thy name be death.” 


Gertrude felt, now was the lime to nerve her own 
spirits, and turn epmforter. 

“ Remember,” she added, “ all the sufferings of her 
life; how little she was formed, to struggle through 
the difficulties that surrounded her. I felt selfishly — 
almost sinfully, before I had seen her thus; and now 
even I, her friend who loved her with an attachment 
only to be equalled by yours, little could I have be- 
lieved, that even I, should think it wicked to wish to 
recall her to this mortal state.” 

Mr. Leslie bowed his head ; his lips faintly mur- 
mured the word, “Amen,” but there was a deep de- 
spondency in his air, which was truly affecting. 

“ Let me take her place, dear Sir; let me be to 
you, the daughter of your remaining years,” cried 
Lady Gertrude. “ I know I can never be like her, in 
your affections; but still, as the friend whom she so 
dearly loved, I may be precious; and here by the side 
of her remains, I pledge myself to be your devoted, 


196 


THE VOUNO PRIMA DONNA. 


affectionate child. It will ever be the sweetest study 
of my life, to endeavour to alleviate your sorrow.” 

The afflicted old man could only weep his answer. 
He pressed the kind hands of the sweet girl repeatedly 
to his lips — to his heart, seeking thus to show his gra- 
titude. But he looked upon the countenance of the 
inanimate Rosalie, and he felt that in this world, all 
was over with him ; that at his advanced age, no- 
thing again could- revive the crushed affections of his 
heart. All that ^pmained to him whilst he existed, 
was to hope and pray, that he might be reunited in 
another existence to her, in whose grave was buried 
his warmest earthly feelings. 




CHAPTER XXXII. 


The story of Rosalie is now almost at an end. A 
few more parting words, and all that relates to her 
will be told. In death, she was honoured and che- 
rished as she had ever been when living, by the 
friends, who had taken such a warm interest in her 
welfare. In the spot she had so long marked out, as 
the resting place for which she so ardently panted, 
the shaded corner in the church-yard of Fairbourne, 
under the shelter of the old yew tree, did they prepare 
her grave; and it was with a touching degree of ten- 
derness and consideration to her slightest wish, that 
every arrangement had been made. It was charac- 
teristic of the kindliness of feeling, w'hich actuated 
each impulse of this amiable family. Perhaps no fu- 
neral pageant was evermore affecting, than the sim- 
ple, unostentatious burial of this poor girl. The heart- 
stirring sound of the passing bell, told its notes in 
every ear, and stole with its pervading melancholy 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


197 


over every hill and valley, giving a saddening influ- 
ence to all the landscape. 

The hour for the ceremony had been fixed to take 
place in the evening. The splendour of the summer 
sun, would then be dimmed. They all felt that its 
bright cheerful glare, would be like mockery to their 
sadness! It was an interesting sight, though very 
mournful. 

Honoured were the remains of Rosalie, by the pre- 
sence of the noble Marquis and his younger sons; 
Fitz-Ernest was not there. The spot itself was beau- 
tiful and picturesque in the extreme. The red shades 
which lingered at the close of a lovely day, gave a 
glowing tint to all around; and a thrush that had long 
built its nest in the old yew tree, was pouring forth 
its sweetest melody — it sounded like nature’s requiem, 
to the child of song. 

On looking upon the countenance of those who 
stood around the grave, what different aspects sor- 
row exhibited ! Mr. Leslie, enfeebled to the lowest 
ebb of weakness, from the sufferings of his mind, 
leant for support upon the arm of the young Lord 
Henry. The breeze had wafted his scanty gray 
hairs, into disorder over his furrowed brow — his eyes 
were red and heavy, but he did not weep; his gaze 
was fixed upon the coffin, with an expression of hope- 
less thought — noiseless grief. But the affectionate 
youth who now sustained him, the very personification 
of happiness — of manly beauty, how unchecked were 
the sobs of sympathy and feeling, that heaved from 
his breast! Death, how apalling is it to the young 
and happy ! As we grow older we learn to look upon 
it in a manner less terrifying. The evils of the world 
have taught us, as we progressed in our journey of 
life, that there are worse trials to endure, than even 
the death of those we idolize. But to the young it is 
viewed as the horror of horrors. They look not upon 
it as the mild angel of death, but as the king of ter- 
rors. They have not gathered the experience of evil 
17 * 


198 


THE- YOUNG rtUMA DONNA. 


Hope is in its infancy, and gilds the future with the 
bright visions of anticipated happiness! 

And then the sorrowing nurse! She who had watch- 
ed the flower from its first sweet bud, who had ten- 
dered it, nourished it with her own hand, administered 
to it through weal and wo, how tenderly ! how faith- 
fully! Now her task of love was over, and in the care- 
worn countenance of the poor woman, the feelings of 
her heart might plainly be read. Humbly had this 
kind servant performed her duty. No recompense 
had she sought, but that which she derived, from the 
comfort of feeling useful to her she served with such 
fidelity and devotion ; and confidently may we trust 
that actions such as hers, are noted by Him, whose 
eye is upon every labour of love ; every Christian 
sympathy; every virtue humbly exercised. Tender 
were the tears that fell upon the new-made grave, 
and slow and lingering were the steps of the mourn- 
ers, who at length retreated from it. 

Mr. Leslie was borne almost lifeless to the Abbey, 
and if tender unremitting kindness could have soothed 
his griefs, he might have been comforted. There 
were those whose delicate assiduities were increasing 
in their efforts to assuage his anguish ; but sorrow, 
although it does not often kill, may yet bow down the 
soul to a state so low, that though existence continues 
to ebb on, it is a darkened, dreary state; and “let 
those vouch for the truth of this idea, who have had 
the portals of the tomb closed between them, and the 
being they have loved best on earth — who have sat 
on its threshold, and are, as it were, shut out in a 
cold and lonely world, from whence all that was most 
lovely and loving has departed.” For many and 
many a sad day, he walked about in a mournful re- 
verie, seemingly unconscious of the world around 
him ; and though he lived on, it was in a fixed and 
constant depression of spirits. “ The agony of the 
first feeling might have softened into pensive medita- 
tion of all that she was in her short life. He did not 
attempt to root out the remembrance from his heart ; 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


199 


it was with him when he died, although then it had 
changed into joyful expectation.” 

And Fitz-Ernest, did he endure with calmness the 
intelligence that all was over? It was midnight: — 
all was hushed and still at the White Cottage, but a 
light glimmered from the window, where Johnson sat 
watching for the last night. The coffin was still un- 
closed, and no change had yet come over the features 
of the pale corps, that it contained. 

A faint knock was heard at the cottage door. 
Johnson appeared as if she had expected it, for im- 
mediately she arose — softly descended the stairs, 
opened the door, and let in the tall figure of a man, 
whose person was concealed by a large cloak. 

He seized her hand convulsively, no words were 
uttered, but in the stillness of the night, sounds of 
suppressed grief were heard to burst from both. The 
stranger seemed to pause, as if irresolute — as if 
striving to gain strength for some great effort. At 
length he whispered in a low hollow voice “ I am 
prepared — let me go at once and then he followed 
Johnson into the chamber of death. And there we will 
not intrude. It was a hallowed sanctuary — we will 
not expose to the public eye, all the anguish of his la- 
bouring heart, as he gazed upon her, whom he ac- 
cused himself of having precipitated into an early 
grave — at least, whose ungoverned passions had ex- 
pedited her death. 

He had suffered much, and deeply had he repent- 
ed ; in sackcloth and ashes would he now have de- 
plored his errors. 

After a lengthened time passed within the sacred 
precincts of this chamber, Fitz-Ernest departed., and 
it was with a heart purified. Never did the impres- 
sion which he this night received, leave his mind. To 
the hour of his dissolution, it will assuredly serve as 
an impressive monitor, and Rosalie’s wishes, will in- 
deed be fulfilled to their utmost extent. And if it is 
permitted, that blessed spirits may look upon those 
they have left on earth, what delight to her celestial 


200 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


perception, to know that he, whom she so truly— so 
purely loved, was blessed in goodness, in virtue, learnt 
in that one lesson, in which she played so conspicu- 
ous a part — that fatal yielding to the dictates of a 
morbid ungoverned feeling. 

The white rose placed on the bosom of the fair re- 
mains, was gone, and also a tress of her hair ; and 
whenever Fitz-Ernest pays the debt of mortality, no 
doubt these relics will be found, in some secret recess 
where he has ever fondly and faithfully treasured 
them. 




CONCLUSION. 

Some time has passed, since the subsequent pas- 
sages were written. 

Sir Francis Somerville, to the astonishment of 
every one, after a lengthened and most painful illness, 
recovered entirely from the effects of the wound, in- 
flicted by the unhappy Arturo. To complete his re- 
storation, he was advised to pass a winter abroad, 
and thither he went accompanied by Mr. Leslie, who, 
at the repeated and earnest entreaties of the Baronet, 
was at length induced to make so great an effort. 
This almost broken-hearted old man, was certainly 
one of the last companions whom we should have 
imagined the gay Sir Francis would have chosen, but . 
so it was; and he urged his request in a ’manner 
which after some demur, overcame all Mr. Leslie’s 
scruples ; and truly, could he ever again experience 
feelings of satisfaction, they might have been engen- 
dered by witnessing daily, hourly, the improvement 
of the mind and heart, of the young man. The ex- 
perience of sorrow, of sickness, had wrought a total. 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


201 


change in his ideas; the whole aspect of his thoughts 
had altered ; till now, he had turned his eyes sedu- 
lously from the dark side of life, and had looked 
upon this world in one light alone, and that a flatter- 
ing one. 

But touched by the hand of adversity, the very fa- 
bric of bliss that fancy had raised up for him, va- 
nished away. He beheld this world, stripped of its 
gaudy colours, reduced to its proper level. The time 
he had misspent, the faculties he had misapplied; his 
foolish levity ; his criminal pursuits, all arose in pain- 
ful retrospect before him. 

Such meditation, assisted by the words of the ex- 
cellent and pious old man, produced a total change 
in his character. They revived those faint sparks of 
goodness in his nature, which had so nearly been ex- 
tinguished in his dissipated career ; and gave rise at 
last to principles and conduct, which ensured his fu- 
ture respectability and excellence. 

Lord and Lady Belmont had already become much 
interested in their nephew — anxiously had they tend- 
ed him, during the period when he lay in so hopeless a 
state, in Gabrielli’s parlour in Regent Street ; even 
then, the patience with which he supported his suf- 
ferings, and his generous forgiveness of the wretched 
Italian, had propitiated their love and admiration; 
and when, after a lengthened period spent on the con- 
tinent, (during which time, they corresponded con- 
stantly,) he returned to England, it was with affec- 
tion and pleasure they received him. 

On Sir Francis Somerville’s return to London, he 
again entered into the world; but he had marked out 
for himself a decidedly different line, from that which 
he had taken formerly. He had sold his hou§e and 
furniture in Hill street, and had purchased another 
mansion. There were recollections that he gladly 
would banish for ever from his mind, for the impres- 
sion they had left was still painful in the extreme. 

He went more into general society, and took his 
place as a man of fortune and talent. By degrees he 


202 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


shook off all intimacy with his former associates, and 
with them his ei-devant companion Templeton ; but 
he was kind to him as far as his purse was concerned, 
and exerted his interest to get him some small situa- 
tion abroad, as he had married Fanny, and was any 
thing but “flush/’ as he termed it, in his circum- 
stances. 

When this story was concluded, there was a pros- 
pect that seemed every day ripening into certainty, 
which was, that of our Baronet being a suitor for the 
hand and heart of one of his fair cousins ; and there 
is little doubt, that Lady Geraldine will have every 
prospect of happiness, with one who has so nobly 
shaken off the chains of vanity and folly. He had 
been betrayed by the flattering gale; he was insensi- 
bly carried down the stream, by the multitude of evil 
doers, who are for ever surrounding the young and 
prosperous ; but being aroused by the sense of dan- 
ger, he manfully overcame the evil, by a steady ad- 
herence to the dictates of conscience and duty ; and 
in his future life, his station — his fortune — his talents 
will be exercised in their proper manner — no longer 
as heretofore, merely to administer to self-indulgence 
and luxury, but earnestly and unceasingly applying 
them to their legitimate purposes — shedding light and 
lustre over the sphere in which he moves. 

Prosperity continued to pour its rich stream upon 
the Belmont family. They were so truly good and 
excellent — every action of their lives so influenced to 
one feeling, the desire of doing their duty to God 
and man, that surely a blessing accompanied every 
event of their lives. Nothing befalls the virtuous 
fortuitously. Each circumstance possesses its link in 
that g'reat chain of causes, which is appointed to 
_cnrry on their improvement and felicity. Even the 
seemingly discordant chances in the lives of good 
men, are made upon the whole to concur and con- 
spire, for promoting their happiness at last. 

Lady Gertrude, the constant, tender friend, of Ro- 
salie, is happy as a wife, and as a mother. The same 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


203 


warm affectionate nature, which shone so conspicu- 
ously in early youth, influenced her feelings in all the 
new ties, which in after life she acquired ;, but pre- 
sent happiness has not obliterated the memory of the 
past; and in the unremitting, respect, and tender — 
almost filial affection, which she evinces towards Mr. 
Leslie, her never ceasing love for the lost Rosalie is 
most beautifully pourtrayed. 

Mrs. Elton, or rather Madame Gabrielli, remained 
at the White Cottage until her death, which took 
place about six months after the demise of her daugh- 
ter. The devoted nurse remained a favoured guest 
at the Abbey, until Mr. Leslie’s return from the con- 
tinent; and then she took up her abode with him, at 
a small home in which he settled, a few miles from 
the village of Fairbourne ; and she served him with 
that fidelity and kindness which had ever character- 
ized her actions. 

Mr. Leslie would not listen to the wishes of his 
friends, that he should remain constantly at the Ab- 
bey. He wished, he said, to be within an easy dis- 
tance of his place of burial, but he had not courage 
to revisit a spot saddened by so many bitter re- 
flections. His was: — 

“ An eye which could not brook 
A moment on that grave to look.” 

His life however was cheered by a constant sight 
of every member of a family who alone had the power 
of reviving any feeling of interest in his heart. Fain 
would they have overwhelmed him with proofs of 
their esteem, but his wants were few, and his wishes 
were bounded, to the one hope which alone sustained 
his drooping spirits — that of soon quitting this world, 
and rejoining the child of his affections in another, 
and happier existence; but it was grateful to his kind 
heart to know, that prosperity and happiness were the 
lot, of those he knew to be so worthy of every bless- 
ing. 

The last act of his clerical life, was to read the 
nuptial benediction over Fitz-Ernest and Lady Con- 


204 


THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 


stance. We will not attempt to fathom any of the 
feelings, which must have stongly agitated the hearts 
of those three persons, on that occasion. Mr. Leslie 
had performed a sacred promise, and he felt relieved of 
a load of responsibility; and it is with real satisfaction 
that I am enabled to add, that the event brough with 
it the happiest results. The future lives of Fitz-Enerst 
and Constance were truly peaceful, truly happy, and 
every year that passed strengthened the attach- 
ment which Fitz-Ernest felt towards his tender and 
loving wife. 

r Gentle reader, should your steps ever lead you to 
the neighbourhood of Fairbourne, visit the picturesque 
church yard; and in a shaded corner on the south 
side of the church — you will be directed to it by the 
conspicuous and wide spreading yew tree — there you 
will see a grave. It is surrounded by a handsome 
iron railing. Within its enclosure, if perchance it 
should be summer, your eye will be attracted by a 
blaze of blossom; for there the choicest roses are 
planted, and flourish in the richest luxuriance. 

Not a blade of rank grass — not a noxious weed — 
dares to spring near this consecrated spot! A gardener 
who formerly lived with Mr. Leslie, and who now 
works at the Abbey, has in his possession a key of 
the enclosure; and it is his office — one which he ful- 
fills with assiduous care, to keep the cherished spot 
in the most exquisite order. 

A large fiat stone had at first alone been placed 
over the opening of the vault, which had been con- 
structed underneath ; but now there stands upon it, a 
marble pedestal, bearing on its base a small vase, of 
the most chaste and beautiful workmanship. An un- 
known band had done this. From whence it came, 
has never yet been ascertained. Indeed, few inquiries 
were ever made upon the subject. On the vase was 
inscribed the following words : — 


‘^weetdlhrmc|ff|t ! and beautiful as sweet ! 

^ young as beautiful ! and good as young !” 


F.NP. 













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